The Rose of Highever
by Pinoko K
Summary: A tale of Lady Cousland's rise from a privileged daughter of the teyrn to the hero of Ferelden. Blood, tears, laughter, friendship, romance, and everything in between.
1. Paradise Lost

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: It's been four years since I last wrote anything. Dragon Age made me do it again. This is a story about Cousland's rise from the privileged daughter of Teyrn Bryce to the hero of Ferelden. This is NOT a novelization of Dragon Age: Origins. It would only be focused on two characters: Samantha Cousland and Alistair.

There are changes to the plot, just to tailor fit Cousland's story more. I try to keep in-game dialogues to a minimum, but sometimes during the crucial scenes, it's inevitable. Especially during the beginning few chapters. The first few chapters stick to the main plot dialogue. It's quite boring for me to write as it might be boring for you to read, but it's essential to set the foundation for the rest of the story, to set a baseline of who Cousland was at the beginning of the story. Skip them if you find them boring. Juicy and fun part starts at around chapter eight "Fireside Gossips".

I've put a list of references and easter eggs in my profile page. Check it out if you are interested.

English is not my first language. Most of the time, I'm still struggling with grammar and proper usage of words. This story is not beta-ed, so please excuse any mistakes and typo. Thank you for stopping by. Enjoy.

Eleanor's locket and Samantha's pendant in this chapter were inspired by a mod called "Of Noble Cast" by JOG.

(Last edit: February 2011)

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Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.

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**Part One**

* * *

**Chapter One: Paradise Lost**

* * *

"_I will tell you, however: you're my darling daughter, I love you, and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen." - Teyrn Bryce Cousland._

* * *

Sky blue eyes shot open.

The pounding sound on the heavy wooden door to her bedchambers awoke the Lady Samantha Cousland from her peaceful slumber. The sound became more insistence, knocking harder by the second. Something was not quite right.

"My lady! My lady! Help!" A voice called out desperately from the other side of the door.

Samantha immediately jumped off her featherbed and ran to open the door, just in time to see a painful twitch on the servant's face before he collapsed onto the floor by her feet with a bolt buried deep into his back. The young woman looked up and spotted the assassin across hall, loading his crossbow with a new bolt undoubtedly for her. Samantha slammed the door shut and heard a loud thud when the bolt hit the wooden door. She quickly reached for her beloved dagger, the Rose's Thorn, and hid next to the tall bookshelf by the door, waiting for the assassin to move in.

Just as she predicted, the door to her room flew open. One man charged in with a long sword waving in his hand. Samantha gave the shelf a hard shove and tipped it right onto of the man, knocking him off his feet, disarming him. Samantha quickly picked up the discarded sword and drove in right into the back of the assassin, piercing it through his armor. She gave it a twist before pulling out the weapon, making sure he was dead, and took the sword with her.

A bolt came flying across her room, missed her by no more than a few inches. Furious, Samantha charged at the other assassin while he rapidly reloaded another bolt. When she drew close, the man abandoned his crossbow and reached for his dagger. But it was too late for him. Samantha thrust the sword into his stomach, then slashed his open throat with the Rose's Thorn.

"Sammy!"

Samantha spun around when she heard her mother's voice. "Mother!"

"Sam! Thank the Maker you are all right!" Teyrna Eleanor Cousland rushed to her daughter and crushed her into a fierce hug. "Have you seen your father?"

Samantha shook her head in confusion. "No. No, I haven't. Mother, what is going on?"

"Your father has not come to bed, I feel for his safety." Eleanor nodded towards the dead man on the floor. "These are not ordinary assassin, Sammy. They bear Howe's shields."

"Arl Howe?" It was then Samantha finally took a good long look at the corpse by her feet. Her mother was right, on his shield was a familiar crest of the House of Howe. Betrayal, anger, confusion, all burning up inside her. "Why would he do that to us?"

"Who knows why he would betray us? Power is what I suspect. He has planned this all along, and did not strike until Fergus led most of our men down south." Eleanor sneered in disgust.

"He'll pay, Mother! I will make sure of it!" vowed the young Lady Cousland.

"He will, Sammy. But first we need to find your father, Oriana, and Oren, before Howe's men get to them," instructed her mother. "Go get into your armor. Your nightgown wouldn't do you any good in battles. I'll go get your father's weapon and check on Oriana."

Samantha nodded and did as she was bid without delay.

Modesty be damned. Samantha began to stripe off her bloody silk nightgown even before entering her room. Her custom made leather armor was waiting for her on an armor rack at the corn, as always. She donned her armor quickly with practiced ease, faster than she had ever done. Her leather armor fit her like a glove. It was strong and sturdy enough to protect her, yet light and flexible enough for her to move. Her brother Fergus had brought her to a highly eccentric armorer in Denerim to have this armor made for her. According to the master at the shop, as he would like to call himself, the only armor stronger and lighter than what Samantha had would require a very special item to make: dragon scales.

As if dragon truly existed.

Even if it did, who would dare to slay one just to get its scales for an armor?

Samantha caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above her dressing table. Long blonde hair disheveled, blue eyes bloodshot, but now was not the time for vanity. There was blood spattered on her face, thankfully not hers. She took a final look at her room and suddenly realized everything in there was replaceable. But the people she loved: her family, Old Nan, Master Aldous, Ser Gilmore, the maids and guards she had known for all her life, they were irreplaceable. For nineteen years, Lady Samantha Cousland had lived a privileged and sheltered life as Teyrn Bryce Cousland's darling little girl. Tonight, as Lady Samantha's paradise began to crumble at her feet, her mind suddenly became clear, her eyes opened. The most important thing to her was her loved ones, not some trinkets from Antiva or silk and velvet dresses. Kicking a pair of Orlesian heels out of her way, Samantha stormed out of her room for the last time, vowing to herself she would protect everyone she loved.

* * *

Her vow was soon broken when she reached her brother's room. The normally poised teyrna broke down on the floor next to the body of her grandson. Samantha gasped in utter horror as her mind processed the image. Laying there on the floor with their blood gathering underneath their lifeless bodies were Oriana and Oren, Fergus' wife and son.

"Maker..." Samantha stopped behind her mother.

"Poor Oren! He was just a child!" Eleanor wept. "They were defenseless! How could those monsters do this to both of them?"

Samantha felt as though someone had just punch her in the gut. It was merely a few hours ago her little nephew had asked her to teach him how to use a sword. And now, there he was, lying on the rug he always played on, with a large sword wound on his little torso. Blood fanned around both mother and son, deep red forming a stark contrast against their ashy pale skin. Samantha felt her stomach turned.

"Don't look, Mother." She dragged her mother up and guided her out to the hallway.

Eleanor wiped the tears off her face. When her sharp green eyes landed on her daughter's soft blue ones, the old fire returned. "We have to find you father before it's too late." She handed a sword to Samantha. "Drop that piece of junk in your hand, Sammy. Use this."

Samantha looked at the sword in her mother's hand, her eyes widened in surprise. "But that's the..."

"Yes. The Cousland blade. Use it to kill every Howe's man standing in our way."

That was the heirloom sword that had been in her family for many years. Samantha took it and nodded solemnly.

"We have to go find you father. There is a way out of the castle through the kitchen. Howe's men probably haven't found that out yet. We must hurry."

Taking a final look at the home she was born in, Samantha hurried to follow her mother out of the temporary safety of the family quarters and into the flaming hallway.

Her paradise was lost within one single night, all because of one man's treachery. Come Dark City or high water, Lady Samantha Cousland swore to kill that traitor who destroyed her home and murdered her loved ones.

* * *

At long last, Samantha had located her father. Yet, it was far from the reunion she had hoped for. The sight in front of her was more horrified than any nightmares she had ever had.

Her heart pumped furiously from both battle rush and fear. Its pounding beats sounded deafening to her ears. Coppery taste of blood lingered inside her mouth, the smell of charred bodies assaulted her nostrils, and the heat of the kitchen suffocated every pores of her smooth skin. Her vision was blurred by sweats and tears. Yet, she could still take in every detail of the scene all too clearly. So clearly that the image would forever burn into her mind and haunt her until the day she died.

Lying on the grimy kitchen floor, Teyrn Bryce Cousland struggled to press one hand against a fatal wound on his abdomen. Blood continued to sip though his fingers despite his effort, soaking his hand in deep red that resembled color of his daughter's ruby pendant. Eleanor rushed passed Samantha and dropped to her knees beside her husband.

"Bryce!" Eleanor cried out, horrified by the pond of blood underneath the teyrn. "Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men... found me first." The teyrn gasped for precious air. " Almost... did me in right there."

"Why is Howe doing this?" asked Samantha as she joined her mother at her father's side. The very idea of standing on her father's blood sickened Samantha, but the inexplicable betrayal by the same man she had talked to only hours ago upset her even more.

"He can't... get away with this! The king will..." The teyrn groaned loudly in pain. It was a terrible sound Samantha would never have thought she'd hear from her kind but strong father.

Samantha panicked. "We need to get you out of here!"

"I... I won't survive the standing, I think."

"That's not true! You'll be fine!" Tears streamed down from her eyes, but the impeccable Lady Samantha didn't care to wipe them off. Right now, there was only one single thought in her mind: her father could not die. He simply could_ not_.

"Ah, my darling girl... if only will could make it so." The ghost of a smile on the teyrn's face was meant to comfort his daughter, yet it had only saddened her even more.

"Then we will stay and defend you!" Samantha's voice steeled with determination.

"Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us!" Eleanor reasoned. "We must go!"

"Someone... must reach Fergus... tell him what has happened." The teyrn gave out one of his final orders.

"You can tell him yourself, Father. Please!" Samantha reached out to her father as gently as her shaking hands could, helping him up to escape. She absolutely refused to accept the idea of her father dying.

"I... wish I could." Another groan. This time, blood was coughed out.

"Bryce, no!" Eleanor cried out, tears rolled down her pale face. "The servants' passage is right here! We can flee together, find you healing magic!" The teyrna was a proud woman who had come from a long line of female warriors; she always took pride in being strong not just with her sword arm but also with her will and her mind. Seeing her firey mother in tears the second time tonight crushed Samantha's heart.

Samantha swallowed hard to bite back a tear. She mentally reminded herself she was also from the same long line of strong female from her mother's side. Her will and her mind would have to be as strong as her sword arm tonight, not for herself, but for her parents.

"The castle is surrounded..." Bryce protested weakly. "I cannot make it."

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct," said a deep and rich voice coming from the kitchen door. Samantha quickly reached for her discarded blades, only to drop them down once more when the owner of the voice stepped inside. Black hair with silver strands, thick beard, she remembered him well, even though she had only briefly exchanged pleasantries with this man hours ago.

"You are... Duncan, then? The Grey Warden?" asked the teyrna.

The black-haired man offered a quick nod as he approached the Couslands. "Yes, Your Ladyship. The teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

"My daughter helped me get there, Maker be praised." The mother and daughter shared a glance, drawing strength from the knowing each other was safe.

"I am not surprised," said the famous Grey Warden, sounding oddly pleased.

"Thank you for saving my father." Samantha dipped her head politely at the older man. Even when the situation was as chaotic and dire as this, she would not allow her manners to slip. She was a Cousland.

"I fear your thanks are premature. I doubt I have saved him." Duncan shook his head grimly.

"Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick!" Eleanor urged. "They are coming!"

"Duncan..." said Bryce between gasps. "I beg you... take my wife and daughter to safety!"

"I will, Your Lordship." The Warden agreed but paused briefly before he continued, "But... I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything!"

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world. I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one." The Grey Warden rested his eyes squarely on Samantha's.

"I... I understand." The teyrn conceded.

Samantha had an inkling she was the subject of their discussion, yet she did not want to jump to conclusion. She hoped against hope her guess was wrong. Cautiously, she asked, "Are you talking about me?"

"You fought your way to me through Howe's men. I think the Maker's intention is clear," said the Grey Warden.

"What about Ser Gilmore?" A knot between her fine brows tightened. She had heard Ser Gilmore was the reason Duncan had traveled to Highever.

"Truthfully, you were always my first choice." Duncan's tone was sincere without a hint of empty flattery.

Under any other circumstances, Samantha would be flattered to receive such praise from the leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. But not here. Not now. She was a Cousland; duty always came first for Couslands for the past centuries. Right now, it was her duty to protect her father and her mother, then to find her brother and together seek vengeance. Duncan could always find another recruit, but her parents could not find another daughter.

"No! I will _not_ agree to such a thing!" Samantha firmly refused, shaking her head so hard her matte blonde locks were sent flying.

"Then what else? How will you survive?" asked her father weakly.

She knew her father was right, but Samantha was not about to give in. "I can't be a Grey Warden, Father! I am a Cousland! What if something has happened to Fergus? You can't lose the two of us!"

"The king will see justice done," Duncan assured the Couslands. "The Grey Wardens, however, must face the darkspawn above all else."

"He is... right, Sam," urged the teyrn.

"I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar to tell Fergus and the king what happened," Duncan bargained. "Then, your daughter joins the Grey Warden."

"So long as justice comes to Howe... I agree." Bryce nodded weakly.

Duncan once again turned to the Lady Cousland. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Warden. Fight with us." His eyes were warm despite being the fearsome warrior he was known to be, his voice sincere.

"No! I won't leave you, Father! I refuse! I won't go!" When she saw the light behind her father's once brilliant blue eyes - the same ones she had - was beginning to fade, she knew her struggle was feeble. Blood froze inside her vein despite the heat from the burning hallway outside. One thought paralyzed her mind: her father would not make it.

"Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to... advance himself. Make him wrong, Sam. See that justice is done!" Teyrn Cousland coughed once again with more blood escaped from his lips. "Our family... always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

She would be damned if she denied her father's dying wish. Even if the Maker forgave her for denying her father, Samantha would never forgive herself. Biting hard on her lower lip to quiet her sobs, Samantha gathered whatever strength left in her and wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand. It shamed her to have her father wasting his precious few last breaths to remind her what she had known all her life: duty first. Always.

"I will, Papa. For you... I will," she vowed weakly with a voice too shaky and coarse to be her own.

Her father's proud smile was all the confirmation she needed to know it was the right thing to do, as it always had been since she was a child. Samantha was her father's daughter through and through, always seeking his approval through hard-work and discipline. She might not like to be a Warden a single bit, but she had to. With the darkspawn threatening the south, Samantha had to fulfill duty as a Cousland to defend Ferelden.

"We must leave quickly, then." The Grey Warden put a firm hand gently on the his latest recruit's shoulder.

"Bryce, are you... sure?" asked the teyrna.

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live, and make her mark on the world."

"Sam, go on with Duncan," Eleanor instructed firmly. "You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Mother? No!" Samantha cried out, horrified by the implication.

"Eleanor..." The teyrn protested.

"Hush, Bryce." She put a loving hand on her husband's arm. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself, Mother!" Samantha reached out to grab her mother's arm to pull her up to escape, by force if needed be. But Eleanor was quick enough to take her daughter's hand in her own with a firm gripe.

"My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond." Eleanor glanced up at her daughter calmly with a tender smile, accepting her place, hoping her youngest child would accept her very own as well.

"Mama..."

"Hush, Sammy." The teyrna released her daughter's hand and unclasped the amulet around her neck. "Take this. It was supposed to be given to you on the night before your wedding day. As it has been for generations passing down from mothers to daughters in my family. If only you weren't so hard to find a match..."

Eleanor pressed the locket into her child's palm and closed it.

The teyrn removed his hand from his gushing wound long enough to pull his sigil ring off his finger. "Here, Sammy. Keep it safe. I won't let it fall into Howe's hands..."

Samantha took the bloody ring from her father with a shaking hand. With two heirlooms pressed painfully in her palm, the reality of losing both her parents had finally sunk in and kicked her hard in her gut. The strong front she had barely held onto was now broken. Loud sobs escaped from her trembling lips as tears flooded down from her bloodshot eyes.

"Papa... Mama... I love you both, so much," she slurred between chokes and sobs. It was very unladylike, but Samantha was beyond caring. If only wailing like a five-year-old would erase this nightmare. Alas.

"Then live, my darling," said her mother lovingly with the same smile that had always comforted her for the past nineteen years. "Become a Grey Warden, and do what is right."

Duncan picked up Samantha's discarded blades and put a firm hand on her arm. "We must leave. Now."

Samantha Cousland cast a final glance on both her parents. Her vision blurred by endless tears. Yet, she could still see the image clearly – the image of her parents surrounded by the ever-growing pond of her father's blood, looking up at her in both pride and relief. So clearly was the image that it forever seared into her mind, both haunting her and giving her strength until her dying day.

–

(Last edit: February 2011)


	2. The King and the Warden

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Changes are made because it's hard to believe Cailan had never met Cousland before Ostagar, with Cousland being the daughter of one of the two Teyrns.

(Last edited: March 2011)

* * *

**Chapter Two: The King and the Warden**

* * *

"_If a Blight is truly upon us in the south, then Grey Wardens will be needed. There is no higher calling." - Teyrn Bryce Cousland._

* * *

It took days to travel from Highever to Ostagar. Or perhaps weeks. Samantha did not keep track of time. Nor did time mean anything much to her. Hours felt more like days; days like weeks. Almost every waking hour Samantha found herself putting one booted foot in front of another methodically, following the back of the well-armed Grey Warden. Her steps led her further and further away from the castle she grew up in, from the home she had known all her life and now lost. She had no idea where she was. Nor did she know the time of the day or the day of the week. None of that mattered to her anymore.

At times, she felt pain – both physically and emotionally. Physical pain from the battle wounds during the massacre, mental pain from the lost of her family due to that event; both lingered around since that fateful night, stubbornly refusing to leave her be. Although Samantha wasn't quite sure if she was ready to let go of her pain now, or ever, for her pain was the only thing she had left that connected her to her past.

At times, she was numbed – alas only physically so. So numbed that she couldn't feel the increasing chill around her as they traveled further down south, far away from the warm and comfortable coastal weather she was accustomed to. So numbed that she couldn't even feel the cold hard ground she had to sleep on during the nights when no inns were to be found.

Days after days, Samantha would find herself waking up with tears on her face, evidence of her sobbing in her dreams. If Duncan heard any sound from her, he chose not to said a thing. They barely exchanged words. Perhaps he was letting her grieve on her own terms, or perhaps he was just a man with few words. As quiet as his company might be, Duncan's look upon her was sometimes sympathetic, sometimes thoughtful, but always kind.

Step by step, she followed the older Warden south to Ostagar. Step by step, her tears began to subside. Soon enough, it stopped. Samantha wondered if she had used up all the tears she had for the rest of her life. The pain lingered on and the numbness returned from time to time, but the tears were gone.

The healing had begun.

* * *

Ostagar was more impressive than she imagined when she first heard about it. Duncan patiently explained the strategic importance of this historical location while Samantha listened politely. Truth be told, her mind was spinning around furiously at the thought of meeting her brother for the very first time since he had matched down south with his men. Samantha had been both looking forward for this undoubtedly painful reunion and dreading it. Fergus was all she had left in the entire Thedas. Everyone she had known and loved was dead, killed in one single night. A familiar face was what she needed most, and a comforting shoulder for her to cry on, a place allowing her to let her guard all down and be just Sammy once more.

Yet, she could not stop the intense guilt building inside her, getting stronger each time she drew a single breath. She should not be alive. Ser Gilmore barred the door and pushed it back, sacrificing himself to let her run; her mother stayed behind with her father to fight one last fight, sacrificing herself to buy her time. They were all dead. Everyone was dead, except her. The guilt of being the sole survivor slowly replaced the grief of her loss, and it hurt even more as the intense guilt started to eat her alive from the inside, eventually leaving her nothing but a shell of her former self. Fergus would never blame her for leaving their parents behind, that much she was certain. But he didn't have to. She blamed herself more than enough for the two of them.

But it had to be done. It was her duty to survive and seek justice, if not vengeance, as she was instructed by her dying father. Samantha was not about to abandon her duty and her late father's dying wish just because of personal pain and fear. She was a Cousland. Duty came first. Always.

Still, the inherited strong sense of duty did nothing to ease the soul-eating guilt of abandoning her parents to their deaths. Samantha let out a shaky breath and hung her head down in shame just by imagining the upcoming reunion with her dear brother.

Just then, a cheerful voice rang across the distance, providing a welcome distraction for Samantha. "Ho there, Duncan!"

"King Cailan?" Duncan arched a thick eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" The King of Ferelden closed the distance in a few long strikes with his long golden hair flying wildly in the wind. Cailan flashed a charming wide grin and exchanged a friendly handshake with the older Warden. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty." The look on Duncan's face was strained, yet the young King did not seem to notice.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in the battle after all! Glorious!" Cailan grinned excitedly. "The other Wardens told me you've found a promising recruit."

"Allow me to introduce to you, Your Majesty."

Cailan waved a dismissive hand instead. "No need, Duncan. We have met on more than a few occasions. Lady Samantha Cousland," greeted Cailan as he studied her rather curiously.

"Greetings, Your Majesty." Samantha dipped into a proper curtsey reflectively despite the lack of a dress. Years of being trained as a proper noble lady had honed her manners until it became her second nature.

"No need to be so formal, my lady. We'll be shedding blood together, after all." He flashed a handsome smile before he looked her over casually a few times. "Although I have to say, you have certainly grown into a fair young lady since I last saw you. Was it last year? You look... different."

Samantha shifted self-consciously under the friendly icy blue gaze. Of course she looked different than when she last met the King. Long silk dress had been replaced by leather armor, once elaborately braided impeccable golden hair was now up in a simple long ponytail, errand strands hanging on the sides of her face. Gone were the necklaces, earrings, and jeweled hairpins. The Cousland heirloom sword and the Rose's Thorn were the only accessories she had beside her own ruby pendant and her mother's locket.

"Well, Duncan, I can't say I'm not surprised to see Bryce's youngest here. What did you say to the good Teyrn to convince him to let go of his Rose of Highever?" teased the King.

Samantha winced inwardly at both the nature of the question and the nickname she despised so much – an unimaginative and cliched title given to her by some noble suitor whom she absolutely hated since then because of it. A title that had caught on so fast, within weeks the entire Highever had known about it. That happened merely three years or so ago, but standing here as a Grey Warden recruit, it felt as if those days had been a lifetime away.

"Your Majesty..." Duncan hesitated.

"Do you not know what has happened?" asked Samantha. She was out of line, she knew, but her patience was wearing thin.

Not at all offended, the King offered a casual shrug. "News from the north has been unreliable. What's happened?"

"Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, Your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished," Duncan informed his King in a hush tone. No doubt he wished to avoid the gossips from spreading, to prevent the morale of the soldier to be shaken by such news. Yet, all Samantha wanted was to yell from the top of her lungs and declared Howe as a traitor and a murderer.

The icy blue eyes of the King's widened in utter shock, his jaws slacked in disbelief. "I... can scarcely believe it! How could he think he would get away with such treachery!" Cailan's cheerful demeanor turned serious as he glanced over to Samantha. "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word," vowed the King sincerely.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The corners of her lips reflectively curled up in a faint polite smile that never reached her eyes. Part of the weight that had been dragging her down since the massacre at Highever was now lifted. The King was informed, and he promised justice to be served. Now, one thing she had left to do was to find her brother.

"No doubt you wish to see your brother." Cailan's voice was gentle, his face kind and sympathetic. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"I am not eager to tell him, Your Majesty." Samantha wasn't quite sure why she would bother the King with her thoughts. Perhaps his friendly and sympathetic demeanor invited her to let her guard down, if for a brief moment. Or perhaps it was some long forgotten secret infatuation she once had for the then dashing Prince on the eve of his coronation – such a silly childish fantasy when she was but a foolish girl at the age of fourteen. A fascination that was gone almost as soon as it came, with a lifespan no longer than a blooming rose in hot summer days.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Cailan put a gloved hand on her shoulder. The weight of his armor glove felt rather heavy, yet oddly comforting. "You will see him again once the battle is over. I am certain. I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

What more could she expect from the King? An immediate invasion up north? No, her father would not approve of such selfish request. It was the Couslands' duty to protect Ferelden. And Ferelden was now under the attack of darkspawn, justice could wait. Yet, Samantha couldn't help but feel disappointed by the delay of justice. Biting the inside of her cheek to still herself from an inappropriate and ill-mannered outburst, Samantha took a long breath to compose herself. With the polite mask of the proper Lady Cousland firmly intact, Samantha dipped into another perfect curtsey. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

* * *

Samantha was instructed by Duncan to find another Grey Warden named Alistair. A helpful guard by the bridge had told her exactly where that man had gone to. Samantha took her time to slowly approached the old temple where the Warden was, absorbing everything around her carefully. Soldiers from different cities were gathering in groups. Some were just chatting, others getting their blessings from chantry sisters. Samantha recognized a few distinctive groups of soldiers based on the crests on their respective shields: Denerim and Highever included. The Lady Cousland deliberately stayed far away from the Highever soldiers, not wanting not draw attention to herself. Duncan had the right idea: they should not be informed about the fall of Castle Cousland just yet. It would certainly hurt their morale or perhaps even endanger their lives at the upcoming battles.

With that thought in mind, Samantha quickened her pace and sought refugee in the ruined temple. Thankfully, it was mostly empty with only two men inside. The older man was a mage, the younger one was clad in splintmail. It didn't take much effort to guess which one of them was Alistair.

Samantha stood afar from a polite distance and waited for the Warden to be done with his business. Even though she couldn't hear their exact words, the exchange between the two men seemed heated, at least from the mage's side. The younger man merely flashed his grin once in a while as he retorted vividly.

"Enough!" the mage suddenly yelled loud enough for Samantha to hear. "I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!"

He stormed passed her without sparing her a glance. Samantha was baffled, wondering if she should follow him or wait here for him to return.

"You know..." came a smooth voice that captured her attention. She turned and saw the young man approaching her with a smile of amusement. "One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

"Sorry, what?" Samantha raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh, nothing," he said with a friendly smile and a shrug. "Just trying to find a bright side to all this." The young man paused and regarded her curiously. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

To that, Samantha could only shake her head at the strange question asked by the even stranger man. Did she even _look_ like a mage in her leather armor? "I am sorry, but I am not a mage."

"Ah, good. Less being yelled at for me, then. Though the day is still young." Sarcasm laced through his tone as one corner of his lips twitched up in a tiny smirk. Just then, a thought seemed to hit him as he lit up. "Wait, I _do_ know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever."

Samantha blinked hard in surprise. _He_ was Alistair? She'd presumed that mage was...

"I should have recognized you right away. I apologize." He offered a charming smile.

There was a mild panic flashed inside her head. Did he recognize her as the Lady Cousland of Highever? "...Recognized me?" she asked tentatively.

He laughed. "Duncan sent words. Young, female, blonde." He raised a finger per description. "Although he didn't say it's a pretty girl."

A fine eyebrow arched high at his last sentence. It would be a lie if she said she had never been told that she was beautiful. What she never expected was to hear it so casually from a Grey Warden, one from a well-respected and rather mysterious group of warriors. Was this young man truly even a Warden?

The young man turned a hint of pink and rubbed the back of his neck. "Er... forget I said that."

She looked at the man in front of her anew. She had thought all Wardens were older. The young man appeared to be around her age, or at most a year or two older. With short dark blond hair almost a shade of light brown, his hazel eyes warm, his smile friendly and inviting. That was certainly _not_ the image of Grey Wardens she had formed in her mind based on Master Aldous' lessons. The Grey Wardens were supposed to be the strongest and bravest warriors who fought the Blights fearlessly. Duncan was the perfect image of a Warden. But not Alistair. In truth, instead of a fearless Grey Warden, he reminded her of a pup. A happy and friendly puppy, and someone else she couldn't quite put her finger on...

The human pup seemed very amused by her stare. Embarrassed by her rather rude behavior, Samantha quickly recovered and squared her shoulders out of habits. Proper posture was essential for a lady, as her mother had drilled into her throughout her life. "And you must be Alistair," said Samantha with a polite nod.

Hazel eyes lit up. "Did Duncan mention me? Nothing bad, I hope." He peered at her hopefully.

She did not have the heart to tell him Duncan only mentioned him by his name and nothing else. It would feel too much like kicking puppies. Yet, she did not want to lie. So instead, Samantha settled with a neutral shake of her head.

Alistair let out a breath he'd been holding then composed himself quickly. "Well, as the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Samantha-" She caught herself before 'Cousland' floated out.

"Right. That was the name," said the Warden rather charmingly. "Duncan spoke quite highly of you in his letter."

"He was just being kind," Samantha deflected, trying to steer away from unwanted attention. She briefly wondered if Alistair knew who she was. If he did, there was no indication.

"Duncan? No. He is not the type to give out empty flattery." Alistair seemed genuinely impressed by her for getting Duncan's praise. Samantha couldn't help but wonder if Duncan's approval was the ultimate treat this human pup craved for.

Samantha merely willed her lips to curl up politely without giving a response. She was not about to tell him Duncan had traveled to Highever in hope to recruit her.

Her lack of response did not deter the friendly young man from continuing with the conversation. "You know... it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens." Hazel eyes looked her over with a teasing smile. "I wonder why that is?"

Her cheeks heated up slightly despite herself, she dismissed that involuntary physical reaction by masking it with her long-perfected poise. Sky blue eyes landed squarely on warm hazel ones. "I suppose I can handle myself better than most women." It was a simple fact stated with a neutral tone, balancing gracefully on the fine line between arrogance and humility.

The grin on his face widened. "I'm getting that impression," said Alistair almost flirtatiously.

Again, she chose not to respond. Her gaze dropped with yet another polite curl on her lips. To her surprise, this time, the smile came with ease.

Still not discouraged by her quietness, Alistair drove the conversation to another topic. "So, I'm curious: Have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

Samantha shook her head, long golden tail sent flying behind her head. "No, I haven't."

"When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another." A deep frown appeared on his friendly face as he recalled that particular encounter. To his credit, he recovered quickly. "Anyhow, whenever you're ready let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."

She nodded in agreement. "I look forward to traveling with you," said Samantha politely. A Cousland should never forget her manners.

"You do? Huh. That's a switch." His self-deprecating sarcasm came back momentarily, then came a flash of a charming smile. "Let's go."

* * *

Samantha knotted her eyebrows, digging deep into her memory, as she walked along the stone-paved path of the Ostagar camp. The young Warden walking casually by her side had her perplexed at the moment. He reminded her of someone, but much to her annoyance, that particular someone's face slipped through her mind. She was almost certain she had met Alistair before. That puppy-like face of his looked too familiar. Samantha finally decided to take the matters into her own hands and asked, "Have we met before?"

An eyebrow shot up as Alistair regarded the newest recruit. He seemed more amused than surprised by the question. "Oh, I'm sure I would remember if we had. Trust me," said the young man with a chuckle.

Samantha frowned in mild frustration. She shook her head before tilting it to the side to search deeper into her mind. It was such a trivial matter, pointless even. She knew she was being foolish to be bothered by it. But anything that would take her mind off the pain from her recent loss as well as the anxiety of the unknown future was a welcome distraction.

"Something wrong?" asked Alistair as he shot her a weird look.

She began to shake her head in dismissal, but something off in the distance caught her eyes: two big colorful tents with heavy guards standing outside. No doubt they belonged to King Cailan...

King Cailan! That was it! Samantha's eyes lit up as the answer popped inside her head. She turned and glanced at her taller companion. Despite the difference in hairstyle, both hair and eye colors, she could definitely see the resemblance in their features. Especially their eyes and noses. Even their friendly mannerism and their easy charm were very much alike, so much so it was downright uncanny. Still, Samantha knew King Cailan was the only child of the late King Maric. The similarities shared by these two men must have been just a joke by the Maker.

Alistair shifted uncomfortably under her unintentional scrutiny. "What is it? Do I even want to know?" he asked with his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Samantha shut her eyes for a few seconds to stop herself from marveling at the eerie coincidence. "I apologize. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You remind me of someone, and I just realized who it was."

Instead of being curious, as any normal people would in his situation, Alistair froze in his tracks and cleared his throat. "Well... I suppose I have a common face."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," commented Samantha lightly. Being resembled to the King was anything but common.

He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around rather nervously. "Er, look, Ser Jory is there. Let's go get him and get back to Duncan." The Warden walked ahead and quickened his pace, leaving his charge behind.

Judging from his sudden eagerness to keep a distance from her, undoubtedly the young man would think of her as weird from now on. But, it mattered not, for the mystery was solved. A small victory to brighten the darkness that had been engulfing her. Satisfied, Samantha shrugged with a faint smile and followed. It did not even occur to her that this was the very first time her lips curled up with ease – albeit faintly – without the pretense of politeness ever since that fateful night.

The healing had truly begun.


	3. The Joining

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

* * *

Chapter Three: The Joining

* * *

"_Become a Grey Warden, and do what is right." - Teyrna Eleanor Cousland._

* * *

There was absolutely nothing that could prepare her for her first encounter with a darkspawn. Samantha Cousland was no novice in swordplay, nor had she never killed before. That fateful night at Castle Cousland, she'd been sustained by pure rage and a strong sense of survival when she cut down a few dozens of Howe's guard with her mother. With Fergus gone, it had been her sole duty to protect her mother, to locate her father; and that had been the driving force behind her battles at the castle. But when she had come to face her first horde of darkspawns in the Korcari Wilds, the rage in her blood had been replaced by fear. Pure instinctive fear. One which had screamed for her to flight instead of fight, had she given the choice. Alas, the choice had not given. She had to face them, and she had to defeat them. Her grip on her weapons had been too tight, her swing too wide, her feet too slow; such novice mistakes she could have easily avoided had all been made. All because of fear. But perhaps Maker had been watching over her today, somehow she had managed to kill her very first darkspawn.

After the first kill, once she'd proven to herself that darkspawn could indeed by killed, the fear had subsided a little. The second one had been taken down with a bit more ease. Then the third one. And the fourth one. Little by little, survival instinct had taken over and replaced fear in her heart. Either to kill or be killed. And when she'd tried to imagine every single one of them as that treacherous Howe, her blades had truly come alive in her hands. By the time she'd return back to Duncan with vials of darkspawn bloods and the treaties, she'd lost count of how many darkspawns she'd slayed. But still, she did not look forward to another darkspawn battle if she could help it.

Alistair had told Duncan about the two mages they had encountered in the wild. One very beautiful and exotic young woman, and her much older mother. Duncan didn't seem to be too concerned about those mages, neither did she. They had been cooperative and cordial, after all. No doubt in Duncan's mind the highest priority right now was the Joining. And she could not agree with him more. Whatever the ritual was, Samantha only wish it to be done with. She'd already killed a dozen or so darkspawns on the first day as a new recruit, what else could be worse?

Alistair's friendly demeanor had turned grim as he led the three recruits back to the old temple ruin. He'd refused to tell her details of the ritual, had only said that it had not been pleasant for him. Samantha had not pushed him for further details, she'd find out soon.

And soon had turned into now, when Duncan arrived with a silver chalice, holding onto it as though it was the holiest item in Ferelden. She shared a curious look with Daveth and Ser Jory, neither had the faintest idea what was in the cup. But they didn't have to wait too long to find out, as Duncan began the rite without further delay. "At last we come to the Joining. The first Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Samantha blinked hard at the words 'drank of darkspawn blood'. She had misheard, had she not?

"We're... going to drink the blood of those... those creatures?" Ser Jory echoed her confusion out loud.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory," Duncan recited.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair added. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

"'Those who survive'?" Samantha had not meant to ask the question out loud, but she did.

Duncan nodded once grimly. "Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay. We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

The younger Warden bowed his head respectfully and began to recite. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

"Daveth, step forward." Duncan called forth the rogue and handed him the chalice.

Daveth took the chalice and drank from it rather quickly. Duncan took it back from him and stepped away, watching the recruit intently as if he was expecting something. Samantha briefly glanced over to Alistair and found him wearing a similar wary expression. And she found out why when Daveth let out the most horrible scream she had every heard, and screamed for the longest time, then fell forward face-down on the ground, and remained silent forever.

Samantha gasped out loud and stumbled a few steps back, her eyes glued to the still form of the rogue who had been very much alive seconds ago before drinking from the chalice. 'Those who survive'. Those three words rang loud and true inside her head. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that her own heartbeats were deafening to her ears. Her breath caught within her throat, her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Howe's soldiers she could kill, darkspawns she could slay, but poison blood? That was some odds she could not fight with her blades. And she did not like it. She could not die, not tonight. She had yet to find Fergus, yet to reclaim Highever...

But all of that didn't matter when she noticed Ser Jory had refused to drink from the cup and unsheathed his weapon. Samantha could not believe her eyes as Duncan issued one final warning before driving his dagger into the knight's abdomen, killing the large recruit instantly. She gasped with both her hands over her mouth, silencing an escaping scream of both disbelief and horror. Her eyes could not have been any wider as she glanced from Ser Jory's body to Daveth's, and back. Her heart was leaping to her throat, so much so she could have sworn if her hands weren't still over her mouth, it would have made its escape from her chest by now.

Duncan sheathed his dagger, then took the chalice and approached her. If she'd thought facing darkspawn was the most horrifying experience in her life, she was dead wrong. As much as her mind telling her to back away from the older man, her feet didn't listen. She found herself rooted to the ground, paralyzed from the waist down. Her body was still shaking uncontrollably when Duncan recited those three words, "Samantha, step forward."

She shot a pleading glance to Alistair, hoping for whatever reasons the friendly Warden would somehow help her. But the young man merely shot her a sympathetic look and glanced away, avoiding her eyes uncomfortably. Duncan was standing now right in front of her, holding out the chalice, and repeated those three words one more time. "Samantha, step forward."

Samantha looked down at the cup, and stared at the black and foul smelling darkspawn blood. If she drank it, she might die. If she didn't, she would certainly die. But... Duncan would not kill the teyrn's surviving daughter, would he? She dared to glance up at the older man's face, and couldn't believe he was the same man who had helped her escaped from Howe's massacre, the same man who had been so considerate during their travel and allowed her to grief in her own privacy, and the same man she had looked up to at the great hall in Castle Cousland.

But Samantha couldn't take her chances with Duncan. She could not die tonight. She still had her duties as one of the two remaining Couslands: she had to find Fergus and restore him as the new teyrn, she had to seek justice and vengence. She had to survive, not for herself, but for the sake of the Cousland line. She was a Cousland. Duty came first. Always.

She took a final look at her only chance of survival: the blood-filled chalice, and grabbed onto it with both trembling hands. The once smooth surface of the black liquid rippled from the shakiness of her grip. Samantha shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath, then brought the cup to her lips and drank one gulp, swallowing as fast as she could before she could spit it out.

The blood burned the inside of her mouth and her tongue, seared down her throat and into her stomach. But the burning sensation was nothing comparing to the searing pain inside her head. She gripped onto the sides of her head and screamed from the top of her lungs. The pain was excruciating. Her knees could not longer support her weight as they gave in and sent her on the ground. Flashes of blinding white light assaulted her vision even behind closed lids. Then she heard a most horrendous roar, and the face of a dark dragon came crushing towards her. Startled, she fell back sharply on her bottom sharply, but the dragon was gone as fast as it came. Blinding white light surrounded her once more as her own scream continued to fill her ears. Every single vein on her body screaming to explode in pain, her heart exploded within her chest, her lungs collapsed.

Then, all her senses shut down.

* * *

"_... amm..."_

She heard some noise.

"_...Sam..."_

She took a sharp breath and choked.

"_...Samantha!"_

Samantha struggled to open her eyes, half-expecting whatever it was she'd experienced had been nothing but a terrible nightmare, that she was waking up in her own familiar featherbed at Castle Cousland, that the sound calling her was none other than her brother waking her up. But the vision that greeted her was not the familiar ceiling of her room, but two faces: an older man, and a younger one. None of them was Fergus'.

Samantha was dumped back into the harsh reality that every single bit of the nightmare was real. A reality as cold and hard as the ground she was lying on. Both men were relieved to see she was awake, but with the tremendous headache Samantha was feeling right now, she couldn't say she shared the same sentiment as both Wardens.

"It's finished," said Duncan with a faint smile of relief. "Welcome."

Alistair reached out and helped her up, allowing her to take as much time as she needed. "Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was... horrible." He shook his head at the memories. "I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

Samantha managed to get back on her feet, holding her head with both her hands to combat both the dizziness and the headache.

"How do you feel?" ask Duncan.

"The pain... that was unbelievable!" Her throat felt raw from the burning blood and her own scream, it pained her to speak. Her voice sounded too coarse to be her own.

"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden," Duncan replied understandingly.

_And what it takes to be a Cousland._

"Did you have dreams?" asked Alistair with a grim look. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"I saw..." Samantha couldn't find words to describe the very brief yet horrible image that had flashed inside her head. "I don't know what I saw."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do," Duncan explained. "That and many other things can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining," said Alistair as he fished out something from his pocket, oblivious to the wary glance from the newest Warden. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far."

She took the pendant from him and nodded her thanks. The black liquid swirling inside the tiny oval vial seemed almost as harmless as black ink. Yet, Samantha knew better.

"Take some time," said Duncan. "When you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

Samantha probably should have just nodded in acknowledgment, but curiosity had taken over her. "What kind of meeting?"

Duncan tilted his head thoughtfully. "The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle. I am not sure why he has requested your presence."

She unconsciously glanced over to Alistair, the man who could almost pass as the doppelganger of the young king. Alistair merely offered an indifferent shrug of 'I don't know'.

"The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able." Duncan turned and left, leaving the two youngest Wardens behind.

"If the king wants to see you and Duncan, you probably shouldn't keep him waiting. He might get mad, start crying, you'll feel bad, and... well, it won't be pretty," said Alistair jokingly with a friendly smile, as he also took his leave and headed outside to the camp ground.

Finally left alone to collect herself, Samantha ran a weary hand over her forehead and took a deep breath. Crisp and cold air of the night filled her once burning lungs as nerves on every part of her body came back to life. She began to feel the fingers inside her gloves, her toes inside her boots, and the chilly air on her skin. She glanced around the temple before she left. And for the first time since she had woken up, she noticed the bodies of both Daveth and Ser Jory had been removed, as though they'd never existed. A chill that had nothing to do with the evening air ran up her spine, as she realized just how easily she could have been one of the fallen bodies. Maker did indeed watch over her today.


	4. The Rose and her Thorns

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: I find it unrealistic for Duncan to travel all that distance to recruit some level-one newbie. Gameplay wise I understand that part is necessary, but for the story, it makes little sense. No matter what origins the hero of the story is from, they each have some sort of training before meeting Duncan, be it formal one or self-taught. Especially in Cousland's case, where Duncan traveled all the way to Highever to find a recruit, and Cousland was his first choice if you asked him. So, with that thought in mind, Cousland in this story will not be power-leveled up from level one to level twenty within just one year. I'll say she's around level six or seven when it started. She is not too good with her weapons, and she knows it. In the later chapters, you'll find out what she thinks of herself. Here, Cousland levels up and learns Dual Weapon Strike.

* * *

Chapter Four: The Rose and her Thorns

* * *

"_No, it's best that you both go." - King Cailan._

* * *

The order was simple: they were to head to the top of the tower to light the beacon, signaling Teyrn Loghain's men to flank the darkspawns. While Samantha agreed with Alistair that it was not a good idea to waste two Wardens on one mundane job, she also knew – lessons from her father – that _not_ following the king's order would be even worse of an idea. Especially when it had been a direct and specific request from the young king that both Samantha _and_ Alistair were to complete this safe yet crucial mission. Alistair had not been shy about voicing his disagreement with the king in front of Duncan. And Duncan's tolerance and fatherly patience with Alistair had not been lost to Samantha either. Nor had she missed that glimpse of the shiny gold armor lingering in front of the colorful tent, its owner's icy blue eyes studying the three Grey Wardens from a distance, before heading back into the tent.

Samantha was certainly thankful for Alistair's company when they headed to the long stone bridge that connected the Tower of Ishal with the rest of the ruin. The sound of battle rang loud and clear beneath the tall stone structure. Curiosity drove the newest Warden to sneak a peek at the battlefield underneath. Samantha's jaws dropped and gasped at the sheer size of the battlefield and the amount of soldiers hundreds feet down below. Each well armed soldier appeared to be no bigger than a tiny insect, fending off enemies one by one. Darkspawn hordes continued to swarm in from a distance; countless foul creatures formed a dark tidal wave threatened to crush through the human barrier. The intensity of the battlefield from her vintage point had the young Cousland froze and rooted to the stone path; the reality and the urgency of the real battle had abruptly sunk in. The random darkspawns battles at the Korcari Wilds, or even that night at the castle back in Highever, was nothing comparing to the battlefield below. This was a battle not just for one's own survival, but for the survival for the entire country. As Alistair had informed her earlier, if the darkspawn horde broke though Ostagar, it would spread across Ferelden. Countless innocent lives were at stake.

Samantha felt a shove as a soldier rushed by her and hurried to his station, jolting her back to reality. She turned and looked for Alistair, and found him studying her with an understanding look in his eyes. The previously junior Grey Warden had now become the senior one in the presence of the newest member.

"Let's go." He put a hand on her back and guided her away from the edge of the bridge.

Samantha took a deep breath to steel herself. She had a mission to complete, and it's a safe one. She took comfort in that fact alone, and selfishly thank the Maker for not sending her down to the battlefield. The two Wardens hurried across the bridge and headed to the Tower of Ishal, only to find out the entire tower had been taken over by darkspawns. Fear began to slip back into her heart at the turn of the event. With the tower full of darkspawns, and only two Grey Wardens and a few surviving soldiers to fend them off, the odds did not look good to her. But, the task had to be done; the king relied on both of them. Alistair had already charged up the tower, slaying every darkspawn that dared to come his way. Samantha had no choice but to follow him and help.

"Maker's breath! What are these darkspawns doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!" Alistair said while he caught his breath after clearing the first level. His friendly face had turned into a serious frown as he sensed the amount of darkspawns on the second level with his tainted blood.

"Weren't you complaining that you wouldn't get to fight?" Samantha reminded him offhandedly, wiping off some sweat with the back of her gloved hand.

"Hey, you're right. I guess there is a silver lining here, if you think about it." Alistair managed to chuckle despite the situation. "Be careful, my Grey Warden sense is tingling. There are just as many on this level than the last, if not more."

Alistair was right. More darkspawns waiting for them at every corner. The two youngest Wardens cut every single one of them down with their blades without discrimination. They had never been trained together, nor had they been worked together before today's first meeting, yet they seemed to be able to read each other's body language in the heat of the battle. The moment he bashed a creature down with his shield, her sword would come right down to plunge into its body. And when he sent an alarm look and raised his blade, she would instinctively rolled out of his way to let him slash any darkspawn crept up from behind her.

"I think we work well together," said Alistair as he glanced at the darkspawn that was about to flank him seconds ago now dropped dead by his boots, courtesy of Samantha's dagger.

"So do I." Samantha agreed with a faint smile and led the way up to the third level.

There was only one single thought that had been occupying her mind as Samantha made her way up the tower: _I cannot die, not yet_. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, her muscles responded to the command and guided her arms to slash and stab with her blades, her feet to kick and dash. But battle rush could only compensate her lack of stamina for so long; soon, the Cousland family sword felt too heavy in her hand as fatigue started to kick in. Her dagger, The Rose's Thorn, picked up the slack as it was sent spinning on her left hand, its unique shaped blade cut down one darkspawn after another. Unlike the heirloom sword which had given to her by her mother on that fateful night, Samantha's beloved dagger had been following her since her sixteenth birthday as a gift - and a private joke - from her dear brother. Knowing just how much his little sister had resented being called "The Rose of Highever", a nickname given to her by some noble suitor and had somehow caught on, the ever-so subtly mischievous Fergus had hunted down this unique dagger named "The Rose's Thorn" as a gift to her. Every rose has its thorn, his little Elly would need one too, Fergus had said. Despite its name and its implication, Samantha had absolutely fallen in love with this dagger, much to Fergus' delight and her mother's dismay.

The Rose's Thorn was now held with a more relax grip, hanging by her side; dark blood dripped from its tip, a token from the last darkspawn fallen by her boots. Samantha caught her breath and stared at yet another flight of stairs in front of them.

"I think that leads to the roof top," said Alistair while he charged up the stairs, taking two flights at once.

Samantha hurried to join her fellow Warden, only to bumped into his back as he abruptly halted to a completely stop on the landing. With his taller form blocking her view, she couldn't tell what stopped him from completing the task. But an answer came instantly in the form of a deafening roar. Samantha stepped up to Alistair's side just when the giant creature turned its attention to the two tiny human. They had to think and act, and they had to do it quick.

"Whatever it is, it can be killed," Samantha tried her best to convince herself as a chill crept up her spine, but the shakiness of her voice betrayed her real feeling. Her grips on her blades tightened in an effort to still her trembling hands.

"Before or after it kills us?" Alistair asked sarcastically while raising his shield. "How good are you with archery?"

"I can never shoot straight." Samantha wasn't being modest. Archery had always been her bane. "You?"

"Oh, I can shoot straight, but my arrows somehow never find their targets." Alistair sighed and made up his mind. "I'll draw its attention, and you'll attack it from behind."

"Are you crazy? It'd stomp you to death!"

But Alistair had already moved ahead and charged at the ogre. He dodged a slow but powerful swing of its fist, and raised his sword to cut the creature's side as he ran passed it. The ogre roared in pain, although the cut wasn't as deep as the two Wardens would like. Its sole attention was now on the young man, who had already rushed to the corner of the room with his shield raised, waiting for the creature to come for him. The ogre began to stomp its way to its target, leaving its back open for Samantha's attack.

Samantha wasn't about to waste any precious second. She dashed towards the ogre as fast as she could, then leaped up with the help of her gathered momentum, and drove both her sword and dagger into the back of the creature with both hands. The skin of the ogre was surprisingly tough, the longer of the two blades that was meant to be come through from its front only stabbed into the creature's back by mere inches. Samantha gasped at the resistance, but used her own weight as a force to drag both weapons down the ogre's back in two parallel ugly slashes. The creature twisted about in attempt to fling off the pesky human off its back, but she was able to hold onto her weapons long enough to finish the cut. When her feet finally touched the floor once again, she dislodged both blades and hurried to back off from the angry creature.

Now, _she_ had the ogre's undivided attention.

The ogre charged at her rather clumsily due to its sheer size. Samantha knew she should dodge from it, but the sight of an angry giant creature charging at her was enough to drain the blood off her face. The look on her companion's face mirrored hers, but he acted quickly. Samantha saw Alistair running towards the ogre with his sword raised about his head. She had to hold its attention and buy him a few more seconds. The young Cousland raised her own weapons defensively, and slowly back up, despite every muscle on her body screamed at her to run for her life. The ogre's heavy footfall made the ground shake with each step, bringing its massive fists closer and closer to striking distance.

Then came its painful loud roar - music to Samantha's ears, as it announced the timely arrival of Alistair's sword hacking onto its back, adding yet another long and deep scars crisscrossing Samantha's own handiwork. The ogre arched its back in pain, granting her a unguarded chest to attack. She immediately jumped up and sank both her blades into the chest of giant creature with all her might, twisting both blades as they drove deeper in. Alistair leveled his sword to the back of the ogre's legs, and cut through the back of its knees with one slash. The creature's legs buckled and fell onto its knees, while desperately trying to fling the young woman off its chest. Samantha released her grips on both weapons and stumbled back, barely avoided its massive fists as it sent them sweeping across its chest. Then, yet another roar came through, the loudest one so far, as the ogre fell face down, impaling itself further into Samantha's blades. She looked up to find Alistair standing on the creature's back, his sword buried deep into the back its neck.

"And stay down!" He yelled at the fallen creature while he freed he sword from its neck, then jumped down from its back and greeted his fellow Warden with a grin of relief. "You were right, it can be killed."

Samantha returned the grin in kind and resisted the sudden urge to hug him as a surge of relief flooded through her mind. "Er... my weapons," said Samantha with one finger pointing at the motionless ogre.

"Oh! Right."

Together, the two Wardens flipped the heavy creature on its back. Both of her weapons were buried hilt-deep into the ogre's chest. Samantha pulled her beloved dagger off the corpse while Alistair helped with her sword. With the Cousland sword freed from the monster's chest, Alistair examined the weapon closely for the first time with undeniable admiration. "Wow. Where did you get this sword?"

Samantha froze in the middle of sheathing her dagger. "It... has been in my family for many generations." That wasn't a lie.

"Heirloom, huh?" He gave the sword a final longing gaze, then reluctantly handed it back to her. "You're lucky to inherit it."

'Lucky' would be the last word Samantha would use to describe the situation that had led to the inheritance of such heirloom. But, the Lady Cousland merely sheathed the family sword in silence. There was no need to correct her companion.

"Well, the beacon is over here," said Alistair. "We've surely missed the signal... let's light it quickly before it's too late!"

Samantha couldn't agree more. She grabbed the nearest torch and lit the firewood on the beacon. The two Wardens watched as the flame came alive and danced furiously in an amber glow. Both released a sigh of relief now that their task was over, hoping that Loghain's army would charge in time to aid the king's front-line battle.

But their peaceful moment was short-lived. Alistair frowned momentarily and tilted his head to the doorway led to the staircase. "Wait... something's not right. There shouldn't be anymore-"

His words was cut short when a horde of darkspawns suddenly charged up from the staircase and rushed into the room, taken both Wardens by surprise. Before either could unsheathe their weapons, a swarm of arrows flew in, hitting them squarely on their chests through their armors. Samantha fell on her back, one very last thought came to her mind: _I cannot die, not yet._

And then, there was nothing.


	5. Witches of the Wilds

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: I know when the story mostly follows the script, it might be boring to read. At least it's boring for me to write; I do my best to avoid them. But it has to be done at during some events. More of those chapters about random moments will be here after this chapter is done. Thank you for sticking around so far. And thank you for those who took the time to review this. I really appreciate the feedback.

* * *

Chapter Five: Witches of the Wilds

* * *

"_So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" - Alistair._

* * *

She drew a sharp breath. An unexpected and unfamiliar scent almost had her choked. It was a mix of unknown herbs, smoke, and... food? Samantha struggled with her heavy eyelids for a moment, and eventually able to pry open her eyes barely enough just to be blinded by the sudden flood of light. She shut them tight immediately.

"Ah, your eyes are finally open. Mother shall be pleased," said a rich and smooth female voice.

Samantha forced her eyes to open once again despite the light, only to find herself looking at the vault ceiling of a rustic hut. Her eyes traced down to the direction of the voice, and saw a very beautiful black haired young woman standing by her with bandages in her hands. Her exotic golden eyes studied Samantha's form critically as though she was making some professional assessments.

Samantha tried to sit up, but pain flooded to her head and numbness took over her limbs. The black haired beauty made a faint noise of displease and moved to help the younger woman up in a sitting position. Her hands were cold on Samantha's bare arms. So was the air she felt around her torso, and her legs... Samantha unconsciously glanced down at herself, and gasped as she found herself sitting almost naked on a small bed. The bandages around her ribcage just under her breasts were the only coverage she had on her upper body, while her unmentionables guarded the lower half. Minor cuts and bruises adorned her skin as if they were random patchworks in a quilt.

The woman's golden eyes shone in amusement at Samantha's expense. One corner of her full lips curled up in a faint smirk. "There is nothing I have not seen daily."

"I remember you," said Samantha with a voice weak from recent lack of use. "You are the girl from the Wilds."

"I am Morrigan, let you have forgotten. And we are _in_ the Wilds, where _I_ am bandaging your wounds," Morrigan reminded her pointedly. "You are welcome, by the way."

"I... Thank you, Morrigan." Samantha nodded politely at the Morrigan, who seemed briefly surprised by the younger woman's manners.

Morrigan sat on the side of the bed and began to unwrap the bandage around Samantha's torso. "How does your memory fare?" she asked. "Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

Samantha shut her eyes to block the pain as she tried to recall. There was the Tower of Ishal. The beacon successfully lit. And... "I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn..."

"Mother managed to save you and you friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live," Morrigan explained. "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred."

"What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?" asked Samantha, desperately hanging onto the very last thread of hope.

"All dead."

That was almost too much for Samantha to take in all at once. The man who was supposed to win the battle for the king had quit and left the young king to the darkspawns? Cailan was dead? That idealistic, handsome young king with icy blue eyes and shiny gold armor should not have been killed in the battle, not by the tainted claws of those foul creatures. What about Duncan, the leader of the mighty Grey Wardens? _He_ could not have been killed by darkspawns too, could he?

Morrigan discarded the used bandage, then used a cloth soaked with herbal potion to wipe the wounds on Samantha's torso. "Your friend... he's not taking it well."

"My friend? You mean Alistair?" Samantha winced when the potion contacted her wounds. She looked down at her torso and noticed several cuts scattered around the ribcage. Wounds that were made by the flying assault of arrows from the darkspawns. All of them had been healing rather fast and nicely.

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before, yes," said Morrigan as she began to wrap a new bandage around Samantha's body. "Your friend has been inconsolable since Mother told him the news."

"Is Alistair all right?"

"He is... are you are," said Morrigan. "I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish."

"Very unkind! Those were his friends!" The lost, the pain, Samantha should know.

"And you think they would encourage his blubbering? If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note." Morrigan's words felt as cold as her hands, but Samantha couldn't find fault in her plain honesty.

Samantha watched as Morrigan secured the bandage with a knot. "Thank you for helping me, Morrigan."

"I... you are welcome." The black haired woman was taken back by her sincere gratitude. "Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

Morrigan stood up and motioned towards a small chest by the bed. "Your belongings are inside that chest. Your friend is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke. But do take your time." She moved to the other corner of the room and tended to a pot above a small stove, giving Samantha space to get dressed.

The smell of steaming stew overpowered the scents of herbal potions. Yet, Samantha had found no appetite at all. She had known this feeling all too well: the feeling of utter despair. Samantha thought it would never come back to haunt her again. Yet, here it was, back too soon. Although the pain did not feel not as strongly as it had been after the fall of her castle. Samantha doubted anything would make her feel that way ever again. After all, what more could she lose after losing everything over one single night?

* * *

The sun was setting when Samantha exited the hut. The orange fire ball in the sky descended ever-so slightly by the minute, casting a bright amber glow on everything its light shone upon. The view of the sunset from outside the hut was even more spectacular than the ones from coastline in Highever.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden," said the old woman by the fire. "You worry too much, young man."

Alistair rose from the fireside and rushed to the newcomer. "Samantha! You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure." His hands grabbed onto her shoulders, as if to see if she was real. She winced when his grips shifted and tightened around her bruised arms.

"I'm not, thanks to Morrigan's mother," said Samantha while she gently pried him off.

"This doesn't seem real. Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king... They're all dead." He shook his head in disbelief. His eyes red and puffed from crying. Samantha could still see some tears lingering at the corners of his eyes, threatening to drop at any moment. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the old woman protested. Samantha still couldn't imagine how a seemingly frail and eccentric old woman could save the two of them from a horde of darkspawns. Even if she was a mage, how could she possibly carry one of them off the tower, let alone both?

Alistair turned quickly to the old woman. "I didn't mean... but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"_The_ Flemeth from the legends?" Alistair stared at the old woman incredulously. "Daveth was right- you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?" Flemeth's golden eyes narrowed slightly at Alistair. They were the same shade as Morrigan's, Samantha noticed.

"I suppose we should thank you," said Samantha as the warmth of the fire drew her closer to its embrace.

"If you know what is good for you, I suppose you should!"

"Is there some way we can repay you?" asked Samantha.

Flemeth threw her head back and laughed. "All that I wish you to do is what you are _meant_ to do. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

Samantha shook her head in disgust. "The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain."

"That doesn't make any sense! Why would he do it?" asked Alistair.

"Now _that_ is a good question," said Flemeth. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon." A grim frown set on Alistair's lips.

Samantha drew a deep breath in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves. All the talks about Grey Wardens' duty, Loghain's treachery, and now archdemon, had driven her to the blink of insanity. She had just joined the Wardens, and now she was supposed to unite the entire country that had been broken by the man who was supposed to protect it, _and_ deal with the whatever evil called the archdemon? All these duties waiting for someone who could still taste that foul darkspawn blood in her mouth from the Joining? Someone who had been a Grey Warden for no more than two hours before the ambush that had rendered her unconscious for Maker-knows-how long? Samantha had been a Cousland for nineteen years, and she damned well had duties from _that_ side as well. And she was not about to abandon her Cousland's duties in favor of the Warden's ones. Not when there was another Grey Warden still alive, standing right next to her.

And hence, the Lady Cousland made her decision and uncharacteristically bailed out of her duties. "Alistair is the real Grey Warden here, I am barely one for no more than two hours," Samantha declared regrettably. Words felt wrong leaving her mouth, but she had little choice. Nineteen years versus two hours, it was not hard to guess where her loyalty stood.

Alistair whipped his head to her direction and stared at her incredulously, disbelieved, almost crying. "All Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except for us. I've lost everyone! For the love of the Maker, don't back out on me now!"

He had all her sympathies, he truly had. But she was a Cousland first. And last. "I just lost my entire family overnight, Alistair. From betrayal, as well. I know how you feel."

"Than we have to do something!" He pleaded.

"But my brother is out there, somewhere in the Wilds. I need to find him!" She tried to sound as reasonable as she could, but desperation crept through.

"Somewhere in the Wilds? Now that would be quite the feat!" Flemeth chimed in. Her implication was loud and clear. If the Witch of the Wilds found it improbable to locate her brother among the Wilds, what hope could _she_ have to achieve her goal all by herself? Whatever hope of reunion she had held onto sunk down to the bottom of her stomach.

"And what about everyone else? We can't let all their deaths be in vain!" He raised his voice to be heard. Samantha could hear the shakiness in his tone, on the verge of breaking. And she could feel her resolution was about to slip away.

"Ahh, to have lost so much. It would be difficult not to cling to hope, however faint. You two have much in common." Flemeth shook her head oddly in amusement.

"I can't do anything on my own!" He locked onto her gaze. His bloodshot puffy eyes pleading, his mabari pup face came full force. Samantha felt her resolution dissolving and her heart melting. And it was at this particular moment, Samantha came to a very disturbing realization: this overgrown human mabari pup next to her could very well be her bane of existence.

Samantha shook her head in defeat. "Then we need to find this archdemon," she conceded with a weary sigh.

"By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention, I don't know how." The pup face dissolved into an incredulous frown. Samantha had almost regretted agreeing to help a second ago.

_The blind leading the blind. Maker help me..._

"How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army?" Flemeth asked knowingly. "It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

"I... I don't know," said Alistair. "Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely."

"Arl Eamon? The arl of Redcliffe?" asked Samantha curiously.

"I suppose... Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet." Alistair's puffy eyes began to light up in hope. "Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

Samantha had met Arl Eamon many times before. True, the arl was a good man as Alistair had said, but with his troops alone might not be enough to deal with the darkspawns. "What about those treaties Flemeth gave us?"

"See? There is a smart lass," said Flemeth in mock praise.

"Of course! The treaties! Grey Warden can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!" Now he looked like an excited pup.

"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else... this sound like an army to me."

"So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and... build an army?" Alistair stared straight into Samantha's eyes, his face was both bewildered and hopeful.

Samantha blinked hard to digest all the information. It had to be the most insane plan in Ferelden history. The entire nation relied on the two greenest Grey Wardens to form an army and fight the Blight. If they failed, countless lives would be gone and darkspawns would take over Ferelden. But if they did not even try, the same result would apply. This situation reminded her too much of the Joining. If she didn't do it, she would die. If she did, she still might die, but there was a chance of surviving. As she had done during the Joining, Samantha picked the path that would give her a chance to survive. Especially when it wasn't just her own life at stake in this case. The entire nation's fate was resting on the two Wardens' shoulders.

"Why not? Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?" Samantha put it as lightly as she could, even though the weight she felt on her shoulders was anything but light.

"So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?" A delighted smile curled up on the old woman's thin lips.

"Yes. Thank you for everything, Flemeth."

"No, no, thank _you_. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I," said Flemeth. "Now... before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear." Morrigan exited from the hut, sending a cool look at the two visitors. "Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."

"Such a shame- What?" Two fine black brows knitted in confusion.

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you have ears!" Flemeth let out a chuckle.

"Thank you," Samantha started, "but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us..."

Flemeth waved a dismissive hand. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

Morrigan's exotic features twisted in anger. "Have I no say in this?"

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance," said Flemeth with a knowing glance at her daughter. Then, she turned to the two guests. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

Samantha hesitated, yet she certainly did not want to anger the powerful old witch who had been nothing but helpful. "Very well, we'll take her with us."

"Not to... look a gift horse in the mouth," Alistair started cautiously, "but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth chided.

Alistair chose his next words with extra care. "Point taken."

"Mother... this is not how I wanted this," Morrigan protested. "I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready." The tone in Flemeth's voice left no room for any arguments. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I... understand."

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

The two Wardens shared a look. The reluctance in Alistair's eyes were apparently, but Samantha could not find a good reason to reject the help from the old mage who had just saved both of them. "She won't come to harm with us," the newest Warden promised.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please." Morrigan reluctantly stepped back into the hut.

Alistair pulled her aside by her arm and whispered, "Do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?"

Samantha shrugged helplessly. "We need all the help we can get."

"I guess you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them," Alistair conceded with a sigh.

Glancing at her mabari pup lookalike companion, Samantha Cousland realized neither of them looked remotely like the mighty Grey Wardens described from the endless tales. She couldn't help but wonder if the two of them could even convince any allies to join their impossible cause, let alone lead an army to defeat the Blight.

_Maker help us..._


	6. Two Lost Souls

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Changes made again. Nightmare happens before Lothering.

* * *

Chapter Six: Two Lost Souls

* * *

"_Ahh, to have lost so much. It would be difficult not to cling to hope, however faint. You two have much in common." - Flemeth._

* * *

All she could see was green haze. Air so thick and foul she was suffocating. Samantha looked around and saw nothing but endless green mist with an eerie glow. Instinctively, she reached for her sword but found none. Her beloved dagger went missing as well. Icy cold chill surrounded her, pressing closer and closer until a violent shiver went up in her spine. She was afraid - no, petrified for some reasons. A little voice inside her head screamed at her, telling her to run. She agreed with that voice, but her feet begged to differ. She tried her mightiest to move, yet somehow her feet were deeply rooted to the ground. Despaired, she tried to scream for help, only to find her voice had left her as well.

Just then, a giant creature shot up from nowhere, looming over her, stretching its long neck that seemed taller than the castle Highever. Its skin was scaled, talons shape. It was a dragon. Or at least what Samantha recognized as dragon from books she had read. It sensed her and fixed its glassy eyes on her tiny form. Samantha screamed from the top of her lungs, still not a noise was made. With every bit of strength in her body, she willed her feet to move and run, only to find herself landing soundly on her bottom, paralyzed, helplessly sitting there waiting to be that creature's next snack.

The creature drew a deep breath, making an awful sound. It then darted its head down right at her direction and let out an earsplitting roar. Samantha cringed reflectively with her eyes shut tight and screamed. A violent jolt ran through her body as she bolted her eyes wide opened. The ugly creature was gone. Chilly green haze had been replaced by faint ember glow from the campfire nearby.

Still not quite dared to move a muscle, Samantha took a few rapid but shallow breaths, and surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings without turning her head. With the burning flame as the only source of light in the middle of the darkness, she couldn't see too far beyond the dark tree branches that were towering above her. Her arching body could feel every pinch caused by the hard surface she had been sleeping on. Neither her thin bedroll nor the grass beneath her provided enough padding to be remotely comfortable. The Lady Cousland sorely missed her featherbed back at home.

Finally felt safe enough, Samantha groaned and popped herself up from the uncomfortable ground, only to feel a sharper pain from her torso when the wounds under the bandage protesting against her sudden movements. Samantha winced and nursed her forehead with her hand, feeling cold sweats transferred from the skin on her face to her fingers. She was oblivious to a pair of eyes that had been studying her for a while, until its owner decided to break the silence. "Bad dreams, huh?"

Her eyes followed the sound and traveled blankly to a figure sitting by the camp fire. She was greeted by a sympathetic smile. "Must have been something I ate," she said offhandedly in a weak and coarse voice, trying hard to downplay the nightmare. It was just a nightmare, after all, right?

Then came his faint chuckle. "Drank, more like. As in the tainted blood, remember?" Alistair quipped lightly, although the concern on his face wasn't lost to her.

"It seemed so real..." she mumbled to herself, shaking her head to clear the image of that dragon that had been burned inside her head. She could still feel the chill of the green haze; her ears still rang from its earth-shattering roar.

"Well, it is real, sort of," said her fellow Warden. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them. The archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

She frowned. "The archdemon? Is that the dragon?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon," Alistair confirmed grimly.

She had seen that archdemon once before. It had flashed its hideous face inside her mind moments after she had drunk the blood during the Joining. The knot between her fine brows tightened as she felt her stomach dropped to the bottomless pit. She was supposed to defeat that... creature? With what? Just her sword and dagger? All while it could easily squish her with its claw like a boiled egg? How in the Maker's name was she supposed to kill _that_? She slapped both hands on her face and covered it, then hung her head down in both distress and despair.

"It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out," Alistair said in the most reassuring tone he could muster. "Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon at bit, but I sure can't. Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me, too."

That last line drove straight to her heart. She dropped her hands and glanced up to her fellow Grey Warden. His eyes were both sympathetic and reassuring. Came tomorrow she might regret showing weakness, but right now Samantha didn't care if she looked like a helpless scared little girl on the verge of tears, because she did feel like one, and she knew he would not judge her. He had seen her nightmare; he understood her fear. And, someday, he too would have to face that archdemon. Samantha took some solace in knowing that whatever it was waiting at the end, she would not have to face it alone.

"Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it." She eventually broke the gaze and took a deep breath to compose herself.

"That's what I'm here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners," he said with his usual self-depreciating smile, although it looked strained. "You know, I screamed like a little girl when I first saw it in my dreams. Duncan said he thought I had someone in my room. Not embarrassing at all."

His little embarrassing story that was meant to cheer her up took a quick downturn to sorrow as memories of Duncan seemed to have surface on his mind. Alistair had one of the most expressive faces Samantha had ever seen, it was no hard to read his mind by looking at his features. The man looked like he could use a hug, but Samantha knew better than to cross the line. After all, she'd only known him for two days. Yet it didn't mean she couldn't return the favor just as he had comforted her seconds ago.

She got up from her bedroll and joined him by the campfire, sitting close to him without invading his personal space. Her back held straight despite the soreness of her muscles, her legs folded neatly in front of her, keeping her posture appropriated for a lady. It was a force of habit. "Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she asked quietly.

He squirmed a little and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "You don't have to do that. I know you didn't know him as long as I did."

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss. He saved my life."

"I... should have handled it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen." Alistair let out a sigh, knotting his eyebrows tight. "Any of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight and... and everything. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize."

"I'd... like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done, if we're still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of."

"He had you."

"I supposed he did. It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him."

He could have just ripped those words directly from her mouth. Every part of her wished she had stayed with her parents during the massacre. In her mind, she did abandon them; their deaths would forever be on her conscience. Intense guilt manifested into a dreadful claw and crunched her heart then twisted it until she almost couldn't feel it beating. Samantha took a few shallow breaths to steady herself before she could find her voice. "No, I understand completely." _Trust me._

"Of course I'd be dead, then, wouldn't I?" He continued obliviously. The dancing flame in front of them held his full attention. "It's not like that would make him happier."

_You are right. They would not be happier... _Her parents sent her away so she could live. So she could have a chance to clear her family name, to find her brother, and take vengeance. None of those could be archived if she had died along with them. It had become her duty to survive. Such duty came with heavy price, and her conscience paid for it in full in the form of guilt. But as a Cousland, duty came first. Always.

"I think he came from Highever, or so he said," said Alistair. "Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting up something in his honor. I don't know."

Highever? Wasn't that a coincident. Duncan had never mentioned that to her. But then again, during those days it had taken them to travel from Highever to Ostagar, Duncan had hardly said anything. Neither had she.

"Have you... had someone close to you die?" he asked. The look she sent him must have been unintentionally sharp, for he fidgeted slightly under her gaze. "Not that I mean to pry, I'm just..."

She forced herself to look away from him, and chose to stare at the flame. Her throat suddenly tightened; she pressed her lips together, not quite trusting the steadiness of her own voice. And when she finally replied, it was barely louder than a mere whisper. "My entire family was murdered just recently."

"Oh, of... of course. How stupid of me to forget." He smacked his forehead, mortified by his own insensitivity. "Here I am going on and on about Duncan and you... I'm so sorry."

She shook her head and waved a hand absently, dismissing his apology without drawing additional attention on herself. She could feel some tears forming behind her eyes, but she blinked them away before they had a chance to surface. "I know what you are going through. I have been there myself very recently when my family was massacred overnight, betrayed by an old... 'friend'. Had Duncan not been there by chance, I would have been killed as well. And for days after that night, I could do nothing but cry, I could think of nothing but those who died. But you...At least you cared enough to calm me down just now, despite the griping pain you are feeling right here." She looked straight at him and pointed a finger at his heart.

"No matter how much guilt we feel about surviving when we shouldn't have, know that we both have duties, as Grey Wardens or... otherwise. Perhaps we are meant to survive to finish our jobs. You are not alone, Alistair. We are in this together."

The young man stared at her for the longest time, and she held onto his gaze. "Thank you, Samantha," said Alistair sincerely. "Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little."

"Maybe I'll go to Highever with you, when you go. I was born and raised there. I can show you around."

"I'd like that." His smile was faint, but warm. "So would he, I think."

She returned his smile with one her own, not just due to politeness. She could have sworn there was a slight connection between them, as if he could understand her fear, her pain, and her frustration. Perhaps it was her imagination. A person who was drowning would desperately latch onto anything. Anything at all. Or perhaps he really could understand. After all, he had seen her nightmare; he had also lost everyone. And both of them had a blight to fight. Both had no one left to rely on but each other.

Samantha hadn't noticed she had been staring at him until he asked jokingly if there was something on his face. She quickly dismissed him and turned her attention back to the campfire. She decided whatever connection she barely felt right now was either from her own disillusion, or that tainted blood that was running through both their veins. It didn't take her long to convinced herself it was the latter. Yes, must be because of that damned darkspawn blood.

The two surviving Grey Wardens sat side by side by the campfire. Each lost in their own thoughts.

Samantha Cousland had lost everyone in Highever. But she knew from now on, she would not be alone.


	7. Chaos Before the Storm

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: The toolset made this story possible. Without it, I wouldn't know many trivial details, such as Alistair's eye color, Eleanor's background, and just how many times Morrigan rolls her eyes and taunts Alistair.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Chaos Before the Storm

* * *

"_You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." - Alistair._

* * *

"Well there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting." Alistair let out a weary sigh. The sarcasm in his tone was hard to miss. Lothering nowhere as pretty as a painting these days. With darkspawn horde approaching, bandits looting, refugees continuously flooding in, the once small but peaceful village had turned into utter chaos.

"Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" One corner of Morrigan's full lips curled up in a taunting smirk. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

Alistair knotted his brows in both anger and annoyance. "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

The mage was not at all bothered by the question; she was rather amused. "Before or after I stopped laughing?"

Alistair rolled his hazel eyes in disgust. "Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked."

A dull headache started forming as Samantha listened in her companion's brief banter. It was no secret those two had disliked each other the moment they'd met in the Wilds. He saw her as a dangerous apostate; she regarded him as a dim-witted weakling. Samantha was not about to mediate their fights; she had more than enough on her own plate. But this time, she had to take a side. "Leave him alone, Morrigan."

"But how can I? He is right there, speaking, eyes wide like those of a brainless calf," said Morrigan to the younger woman, but her golden eyes never left her target, taunting him to react.

"He does not look like a calf," Samantha protested wearily. To her, Alistair looked more like a poor mabari pup who had just lost its owner. She had heard that mabari chose its master for life in a process called imprinting. Once its master died, the dog would soon fade away in grief. Unless, on rare occasion, the mabari chose to imprint on a new owner. Samantha could only hope Alistair would be stronger than the pup he reminded her so much of.

Alistair's warm hazel eyes narrowed at the black-haired woman. "Oh, I get it. This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life." It would seem the pup had some bite left in him despite his grief. It was a good sign.

"I can be friendly when I desire to," the mage sneered, then arched a meaningful eyebrow. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

Her headache refused to subside, perhaps due to fatigue from the travel and her injuries. Samantha put one hand over her forehead and shut her eyes to block out the pain. "Stop it, please. Both of you," she urged with a sigh.

There was a momentary silence before Alistair spoke up. "Anyway..." He sent a glare at the mage's direction, blaming her for his fellow Warden's distress. "I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first."

Samantha dropped her hand off her forehead and opened her eyes with resolution. "I need to look for Fer- my brother. He might still be alive."

"He was out scouting in the Wilds, wasn't he?" asked Alistair. "That's what the king said."

"Then attempting to look for him there would be foolish. He is either dead or he managed to flee to the north," said Morrigan with a dismissive wave.

_Dead?_ That particular thought had never crossed Samantha's mind until now. _Fergus cannot be dead. No. _

Alistair sent a withering glare at the mage on his fellow Warden's behalf. "Very sensitive."

"I am simply saying that it is foolish to mount a rescue when you have no notion where this man is and the Wilds are overrun with darkspawn. You will either find him somewhere outside the Wilds with other survivors, or... not at all."

Samantha shook her head in denial. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't look for him!"

"That is exactly what it means. You wish to do this brother of yours a service? Avenge him. The time to look for survivors will come later." There was no mockery or taunt in Morrigan's firm voice. It was nothing but ugly reality.

Samantha froze at the mage's cold but realistic assessment. Reality sank in and kicked her in her guts; there was no sound when she opened her mouth and tried to retort. She felt Alistair's hand on her shoulder as he stepped up beside her. "We will find him, Samantha, sooner or later. Right now, we need to decide what our general plan is for afterward."

She knew he was right. She was not just a Cousland, but also a Grey Warden. There were other duties waiting for her, even if Fergus couldn't be found right away. Samantha swallowed hard and quelled the disquiet in her heart. "You have some thoughts on that point, Alistair?"

Golden eyes rolled high in the sky. "This should be good."

Alistair pointedly ignored the display. "I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties... have you looked at them?"

Samantha nodded. "Yes. This morning."

"There are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first."

"Is there a way to contact the Grey Wardens?" asked Samantha.

"Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word to would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that's thousands of miles away." Alistair shook his head in mild frustration.

The newest Warden paused to consider her options. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. "Why are you leaving it up to me? You have been with the Grey Wardens longer."

"By six months," Alistair retorted. "Well, _I_ don't know where we should go. I'll do whatever you decide."

"Now, that is unsurprising," Morrigan quipped.

"You trust _me_ with the entire Blight?" _You don't even know what I am._

"I trusted Duncan. He handpicked you, and you managed to s- pass the Joining. That makes you special."

"Were you not picked by Duncan, too? And didn't you pass the Joining as well?" asked Samantha.

"Well..."

"Is it not obvious? That idiot does not want to lead and wants you to pick up the slack," said Morrigan with yet another taunting look at Alistair's direction. "Whatever you decide, Samantha, do so soon. The sun is about to set."

Samantha glanced at the setting sun, the very same one she had admired in front of Flemeth's hut yesterday. Yet, it looked so much less peaceful and spectacular here in Lothering. Her headache beckoned. She could use a nice bed, a bath, and a hot meal. "We will go to Arl Eamon first then." The arl knew her family, he might be able to help with Fergus. Then an unexpected growl came through from her stomach. Samantha sighed and conceded to her immediate need. "Let's go find an inn for a hot meal or two. The darkspawn can wait."

Alistair sent her a knowing look, somewhat amused. "That side effect finally hits you, I see."

"Pardon?" Samantha was confused.

"Oh, nothing. You'll see..."

The only inn in Lothering was packed full with hopeless refugees from towns and farms nearby, even the local chantry and every single building in town had no rooms left for additional travelers. Samantha and her companions had been turned down by the innkeeper and had to camp on the outskirt overnight.

But not without a hot meal from the inn first.

Morrigan immediately expressed displeasure the moment they stepped into the inn. It was too crowded for her liking. Bidding the Wardens farewell, and saying she could be found at camp outskirt, the mage wandered off by herself. Samantha was left with her fellow Warden. Finishing a bowl of bland stew at their small table, Samantha carefully stole a glance at the uncharacteristically quiet man sitting next her, not quite certain if she should break the silence. Alistair had been brooding ever since his recovery from the battle at the Tower of Ishal. Samantha couldn't blame him. The sudden lost and inexplicable betrayal were both too familiar for her. She had talked to him the night before, and gave him much needed time to grief during the day. Much to her surprise and his credits, he'd began to talk more like his normal self. Although sometimes she would still catch him receding back to his thoughts, with a haunted look glazed over his eyes.

Like right now.

Samantha knew that look. It was the same one she had held for some time after the massacre at Castle Cousland. Just like her, he had lost everyone dear to him overnight. Just like her, he had been betrayed by someone he'd thought he could trust. And just like her, he was probably feeling the acidly guilt of survival and the burning heat of rage. The pain was still too raw for her; blood poured from figurative wounds even though the physical ones were healing. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the image of her mother kneeing by the form of her dying father, a pond of deep red blood from her father's fatal wound fanned out around them. If she inhaled deeply enough, she could almost smell the smoke and death from the burning castle. If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the pounding of the front gate as Ser Gilmore so bravely held back the heavy wooden doors, sacrificing himself to buy time for her and her mother. She could hear the horrible screams from everyone she had known for her entire life, dying, begging her to save them. And right now, with her eyes closed, she could see them, she could smell them, she could hear them...

_Clink clink clink clink..._

Some strange sound jolted her out of her waking nightmare. Samantha shot her eyes opened and followed the sound of noise. It was from the spoon she was holding. She watched as it clinked against the bowl, and traced along its handle to find it in the grasp of her trembling hand. Panicked, she dropped the spoon into the bowl with a louder clink in embarrassment, as though the metal handle was burning her.

A warm hand placed itself gently on her shoulder, and she turned to its owner reluctantly, feeling rather embarrassed by the sudden display of distress. Samantha expected to find at least a questioning look from her companion, but none was found. She was greeted instead by a look of understanding and a faint smile of sympathy. Whatever had written on her face, he must have recognized it too.

"We will get through this," said her fellow Grey Warden with his brave front back on.

With the fate of the Blight had been dumped squarely on their shoulders, the entire Ferelden at stake, they had no choice but to see this through. Samantha agreed with a firm nod, "Yes, we will."

* * *

It wasn't Samantha's first camping experience. She had spent more than a few night on cold hard ground while traveling from Highever to Ostagar with Duncan when no inns could been found. Yet, since Duncan had known who she was, and just how inexperienced she was, he'd not even bothered to ask her to set campfire or things as such. Her current companions, however, had no such knowledge. Nor had Samantha found the need to reveal her identity yet. Not that it really mattered much anymore.

So it's not hard to imagine Alistair's surprise when Samantha sheepishly informed him that she didn't know how to set a campfire. "You don't know?"

Samantha shook her head helplessly. "Morrigan set it last night. And when I was traveling with Duncan, he never asked for help."

"So, you'd never set camp before Duncan recruited you?"

There was another shake of her head.

"You could have fooled me. I saw the way you handled your blades at the Tower of Ishal, and I thought someone with your skills must have traveled before."

"Oh, I have traveled, but I never had to set camp." The camp had always been set before the teyrn's caravans had reached the campsite.

Alistair looked amused by her discomfort for a moment, but he quickly reverted back to his friendly self. "It's not that hard, really. If you can kill a darkspawn, you can set a campfire."

He gathered woods for the fire, while Samantha trailed along and helped whenever she could. She was no longer a spoiled daughter of the teyrn. If she wanted to survive, she would need to learn some basic skills. Lucky for her, her fellow Warden was nice and friendly enough to help. He patiently demonstrated each step as Samantha absorbed the information intently. "And now, all we need is to light the fire." And he did so. Both Wardens watched as the flame slowly came alive. "Easy, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't say that. You made it look easy."

He sent her a impish smile. "Aw. If you wanted me to set the fire from now on, all you needed to do is ask."

Samantha returned his smile with a grateful one, wondering when, or how, she should tell him that she was the late teyrn's daughter. And just how the friendly Warden would treat her once he knew.

* * *

Samantha found herself back at the same small table at the inn next afternoon, enjoying yet another bowl of the same mysterious stew. The peacefulness was deceiving. For it was in this very inn this morning, her group had been attacked by a few Loghain's soldiers, claiming they were fugitives. The soldiers were dispatched, alas with violence not words. But, with that incident, the trio gained a surprising ally: a chantry sister named Leliana.

With the sister left to gather her belongings, and Morrigan once again wandered off by herself, Samantha was left with Alistair, who was utterly delighted to find a small block of cheese in the kitchen. Samantha made a mental note of the effect of cheese on Alistair while she finished her first bowl of stew. The stew was nowhere as delicious as the one her Nan had been famous for. Not even Nan's undercook could make such bland tasting food. But still, Samantha would not complain. The food was warm enough, and she was beyond starving. She ordered a second one without thinking.

The day had gone on well enough. Mood around the group had been somewhat lightened. The tongue slashing banters between Morrigan and Alistair came back in full force. She often found the apostate mage and the former templar walking on her either side, perhaps using her as a physical barrier to keep themselves from strangling each other, all while sharp words were exchanged over her head. Thankfully some of their banters had been amusing enough, Samantha had caught herself quietly chuckling for a time or two. It would seem her mind had been eased somewhat as well.

They had acquired another unexpected ally: a qunari. She had never met a qunari before, and she would be lying if she said he did not intimidate her by his sheer presence. He was... tall. And muscular. Much taller than Fergus or Alistair, by almost a head. But, he was also oddly soft-spoken for a man his size. Samantha didn't know what to make of him, yet. She pushed that thought out of her mind for now, as another the bowl of unappetizing brown glue had just been set in front of her by the busy waitress.

Another embarrassing growl from her stomach protested. She had never felt so hungry in her entire life before; it was as though she had gone starving for days. She finished her food far more quickly than she normally would, or at least a proper lady should. She had even broke a piece of stale bread and used it to wipe off leftover stew around the bowl, then savored the bread as if it was the finest piece of pastry in Ferelden. But it wasn't until she caught herself licking on the spoon then Samantha became aware of her table manners. Or lack thereof. The Lady Cousland was appalled by her sudden lack of etiquette. For all her life, she had been drilled to be a proper lady by the holy trio consisted of Nan, Master Aldous, and her dear mother. And now, not soon after she'd left the castle, she had left her manners behind too? A Grey Warden she might be, her old life might have been left behind, but she was still a Cousland. It's in her blood. Her mother would not be pleased.

Well... At least she hadn't slurped, had she? No, she had not, of that she was quite certain.

A chuckle caught her attention and she turned to her companion, only to find him studying her in pure amusement.

"Yes?" asked Lady Cousland as nonchalantly as she could despite a pink flush of embarrassment surfacing on her cheeks. Her back unconsciously straightened further.

"Oh, nothing..." Alistair waved a hand in dismissal and took a table knife to cut another slice from the piece of cheese, making an effort to quiet a snicker.

Her stomach growled once again. Ignoring her fellow Warden's knowing gaze that followed her form, Samantha left for the kitchen, praying to the Maker that there was still stew left. Or bread. Or any food at all. Samantha Cousland had to satisfy her hunger. Darkspawn could wait.


	8. Fireside Gossips

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

* * *

Chapter Eight: Fireside Gossips

* * *

"_I've got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said. That way they'll mutiny and I shall become the group leader!" – Alistair._

* * *

It had been a few days since they'd left Lothering. There were only minor groups of darkspawn appeared sparingly as Samantha and her companions traveled north to Redcliffe. It would seem the darkspawn horde had not caught up yet, Samantha was mildly relieved by that fact. She was not ready to face another attack of endless hordes of those hideous creatures after Tower of Ishal. And she doubt she would ever feel ready to face battles like that. But, she had no choice. As one of the two remaining Grey Wardens, it was her duty to end the Blight, despite how scared and helpless she might feel at times. Nor would she ever abandon her duty and leave the Blight to Alistair. She was a Cousland. As a Cousland, duty came first. Always. No matter how terrified she actually felt.

Traveling with her companions took the edge of the fear off. Even only by himself, Sten was already a force to be reckoned with. His broadsword could easily cut down enemies before they could reach him. Samantha sometimes wondered absently how many darkspawn he could take down just by himself. Leliana had proven more resourceful and cunning than a lay sister should; although Samantha shouldn't be surprised. After all, she was an Orlesian bard. From the history books she'd read, Samantha knew Orlesian bards were skilled rogues who often acted as spies. Regardless of her past, Leliana had saved her with her flying arrows more than a few times. Samantha felt she could trust the Orlesian. If the bard wanted to harm her, she was certain a few arrows would have found its way to her forehead or her chest by now.

And then, there was Morrigan. Samantha still wasn't too sure what to make of her. She was aloof, to say the least. Even discounting her eerie shape-shifting ability, Morrigan was still very powerful in battle with just her magic. The mage's lightening spell had landed a few times too close to her for her liking, but never once had it harm her. At least she had not been momentarily frozen by Morrigan's spell, as Alistair had the pleasure to experience once.

And as for Alistair, as goofy as he might seem sometimes, he was more than a capable warrior. Samantha had never doubted his ability in battle. Not since the trip into the Wild. And especially not after Ostagar. They had worked closely as a team to defy the odds during the battle in the Tower of Ishal, and their partnership had only continued to grow both in the battlefields and out ever since.

All her companions were very capable on their own, leaving her as the weakest link in the chain. Her skills had improved with the constant battles, to be sure. And where she lacked the strength, she more than made it up with her speed. Still, she needed more training. She was certain Alistair would be more than happy to train her, but she didn't like using shield. Her archery skill had proven to be probably the worst in Ferelden when she'd taken lessons from the archery master back at home. She was no mage, that much was certain, so Morrigan couldn't train her even if the mage so inclined. As for Sten, Samantha wondered if she could even lift up a broadsword long enough for one proper swing.

If only the Maker would deliver a dual-wielding companion for her to be her willing mentor. One could dream.

As Samantha sat by the fire and wondered, her fellow Grey Warden invited himself to join her. They were on the first watch of the night. One of many to come in the coming days, or weeks, or perhaps months. Tomorrow, they would reach Redcliffe and seek the arl. Or at least the arlessa, as they were told Arl Eamon had fallen ill.

Alistair poked the campfire with a stick, keeping the flame alive. He then turned to his companion with a curious look on his face. "I'm wondering something. I'd like to know your thoughts about some of our... traveling companions. Do you mind if I ask?"

"Go ahead, I don't mind," said Samantha. "You will tell me your opinions as well, I take it?"

"Just try and stop me. Let's see... where should I begin? Morrigan. Do you trust her?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Think about it... maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason than she said."

"You really don't like each other, do you?"

"Well aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter _bitch_, no... I don't like her at all. Why? Do you?" He shot her a glance, as if baiting her to choose a side, preferably his.

"She is powerful with her magic. And beautiful, too. Don't you think?"

"Right. So beautiful she will turn you into a frog the moment you look at her the wrong way." And there was a non-too-subtle sneer. "And let's not forget that she's a swamp witch. A maleficar."

"Alistair..."

"What?" He blinked all too innocently.

Samantha sighed and returned back to the proper subject before he had a chance to continue on his rant about his least favorite person in the group. "I have to admit now that I have time to think about it, some words Flemeth used were peculiar, to say the least. She told us to take her daughter along as 'repayments' for saving our lives. One would think by taking her only daughter, we'd only be further in her debt, for she assisted us not once, but twice..."

"See? I knew it! I could just _feel_ something wasn't right." He leaned closer and lowered his voice in a secretive tone. "You're not just going to let her follow us around, are you? A maleficar and Maker-knows-what else?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Your templar training is showing."

"It is not!" He protested loudly, then begrudging admitted when she gave him a suspicious look. "All right, maybe it is a little. You may have a point. But we both know something doesn't add up. Remember, she's dangerous. And evil. And mean. I say we have to watch her carefully. Very carefully."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Me? No! I don't want to be zapped into a frog. You do it."

"Fine. We can't have you hopping around as a frog, can we? I'll keep an eye on her. And if she turned ever me into one, you would have to kiss me to turn me back to human again," she joked offhandedly, thinking of a old childhood tale her mother had used to tell her.

His face flushed to a deep shade of pink. "Er... Right. Ahem. Next one. Well, what about Sten? The way he looks at me, with those eyes... creepy. And he's so quiet for someone so big."

"His eyes are not creepy," she chided. "And I respect him. He's dedicated."

"The more I talk to him, the more reasonable he does seem. His philosophy is so strange, but it doesn't sound at all as vile as the Chantry describes it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "And yet he killed all those people. He doesn't even deny it. Doesn't that bother you?"

"He seems to regret what he did, don't you think?"

"Hmm. I'm not so sure that his regret means the same as it would for us. The qunari sense of honor is... a bit hard to grasp. For me, anyway."

"Well, you are not alone on that one."

"Good to know." He offered a friendly smile. "And what about Leliana? Is she crazy? Or do you believe in her vision?"

"It could be true." She shrugged. "Who's to say it isn't?"

"Maybe you're right. It's not as if she could have known that we needed help so desperately, after all, yet there she was. I don't know what to make of her. If you look at her when she doesn't see you, she just looks so... so sad. I almost feel guilty taking her away from her life."

A curious eyebrow of hers raised and a knowing smile curled up.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes dubiously at his companion. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You were studying her..." A soft giggle escaped her lips. It was a sound she hadn't made for weeks.

Alistair's face turned bright red. "What? NO! Not like that! It's not what you think. Well, I study every companion, even Sten, don't I?"

Her teasing smile only broadened. "Leliana sure is beautiful, isn't she? Morrigan is more exotic and dangerous, while Leliana is more..." She tapped a delicate finger on her cheek, searching for the perfect words. "... mysterious and feminine. A beautiful Chantry lay sister who is also a thief and an Orlesian bard with mysterious past. Can't get more alluring than that, can it?"

"No matter how exotic or beautiful they are, both of them are dangerous." He tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, but the deep pink on his face refused to fade away. "I've heard stories about the Orlesian bards. It had to do with how a bard assassinated her target. How they were... lulled into complacency."

"'Lulled'? With songs?"

He threw her a sideways glance and enlightened his naïve companion, "Seduction."

"Ah... I see. Beautiful, mysterious, and seductive. Perhaps I should switch my watch with her tomorrow night, just so you could have a chance to… get to know her."

"That's _not_ what I meant," he huffed with exasperation and shook his head firmly. "Not all men like those dangerous and mysterious type, you know. Trust me."

"I take it you like another type, then."

"Poke, poke, poke! 'Why don't you tell me the past twenty years of your life, Alistair?'" he said with a roll of his eyes, although a small grin suggested he was anything but annoyed. "Fine, I'll indulge you. We have nothing better to do anyhow. I... haven't really thought about it much. You know, living in a monastery ever since I was ten didn't exactly put me in the best position to think about... women much. Not that I don't think about it. And now that I'm free of the chantry, there's another teeny tiny inconvenience called the Blight keeps getting in the way. As a Grey Warden, I might die anytime, it does make things difficult to start a relationship, if I could even find that someone, that is. But don't cry for me or anything, I've resigned to my fate of dying young and alone, probably eaten by darkspawn."

Samantha nodded understandingly. "I suppose. Although I don't think you would die alone; I'd be there to kill the darkspawn that tried to eat you. Unless I was being eaten by darkspawn as well. In that case, we wouldn't be dying alone either. We are in this together, remember?"

He stared at her for a brief moment, then a warm and sincere smile appeared. "Yes, of course we are. Anyway, what about you?" he asked curiously.

"What about me?"

"What is your type?"

She blinked blankly at the question. "I... honestly don't have one."

"Aw, don't you women think about this kind of things all the time?" he teased with a chuckle.

"Not anymore frequently than you men think about women," she informed him with mock disapproval. "And to satisfy your curiosity, I haven't thought about it, not lately, anyhow. If you asked me a few years ago, I could have told you precisely what I liked. But, I was just a child then. Every girl dreams, after all."

"All right then, what did you like?"

A warm smile curled up on her lips as distant memories surfaced. So lost was she in her own revery that she didn't notice the color on his face rapidly went from flushing to draining then to flushing again, when she answered with two simple words: "Dashing prince."


	9. Revelations

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: If you haven't seen Alistair gets angry and yells before, you should at least try watching clips of it on youtube.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Revelations

* * *

"_I know who I was told was my father. He died even before my mother did, anyhow. It isn't important." - Alistair._

* * *

Alistair's usual friendly demeanor began to change gradually as the group traveled closer and closer to Redcliffe. At times, Samantha would find him shooting nervous glances at her. And when she had asked about it, he'd merely mumbled a 'nothing' and treated back to his thoughts. Samantha had decided to let him work out whatever that had been bothering him. If and when he wished to talk, she was quite certain she could not shut him up even if she'd tried.

And she did not have to wait for too long. Upon descending the wood-planked stairs that led down to the entrance to Redcliffe, Alistair had finally decided to break his silence.

"Look, can we talk for a moment?" Alistair asked very much reluctantly. "I need to tell you something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier."

_More unpleasant facts about being Grey Warden? _Somehow, she doubted that. With the facts of dying young and endless nightmares had already been revealed, Samantha couldn't think of more surprises that would make being Grey Warden even more unpleasant. "What's on your mind?"

He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as a nervous habit, Samantha recognized it by now. Alistair paced towards the edge of the cliff that looked over the rest of the town. He stopped by the wooden fence and turned to face his companion with almost a grimace on his face. "I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?"

Samantha nodded as she joined him by the fence. It was one of the many topics they had talked about ever since they'd traveled together. "Yes, I remember that."

"The reason he did that was because..." He paused and took a deep breath, then blurted out the rest, "Well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my... half-brother, I suppose."

Samantha blinked hard and made the most unladylike choking sound at that revelation. "What?" she yelled before she could stop herself. _He is a PRINCE?_ Her eyes darted from side to side rapidly as her mind raced to work out the implications of that fact alone. Cailan was dead. And he had no heir. That would mean... _Maker's breath, this mabari pup is the heir to the throne! And he is putting his life on the line everyday?_ She whipped her head up and glared straight into his eyes; her gaze unintentionally sharp. He was peering at her cautiously as if waiting for judgment. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked in exasperation.

He signed again and shrugged feebly. "How? When would I say that? 'Oh, by the way, King Maric had sex with a servant and she produced a bastard son. That's me.'"

Samantha opened her mouth to retort, but found no words. Her blue eyes still widened in shock.

"I would have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me," Alistair tried his hardest to explain. "I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me... even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it."

_And he should!_ It was reckless to have the last Theirin heir running around fighting darkspawn; Duncan had been right about keeping him out of fighting. Pieces of puzzle fell neatly into their rightful place inside her head and formed a picture; Samantha suddenly realized why the man in front of her reminded her so much of Cailan, and perhaps why the late king had insisted on sending Alistair away from the real battle. She opened her mouth again, ready to reason with the naïve bastard prince, but one look at his regretful mabari pup face had effectively extinguished her anger and halted the lecture of duty and responsibility she was about to fire out.

"I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry." His apology was most earnest. Samantha couldn't find it in herself to put the blame on him, even though she knew she should.

She helplessly sighed and held her forehead with one delicate hand. It would be hypocritical for her to lecture him on the danger of putting himself in the battles as the last of his line. She had yet to locate Fergus, yet to tell him what had happened in Highever. Should she perish before reuniting with her brother, the truth might die along with her. But still, everyday she put herself in danger as a Grey Warden. Just as Alistair did.

_Pot, meet kettle, albeit a royal kettle._

And then there was a tiny little fact that she had yet to reveal herself as the teyrn's daughter, exactly because of the reason Alistair had just stated: people might coddle her. She was a Cousland; she knew how to handle her blades.

"I think I understand," said Samantha wearily. Alistair had no idea how truly she understood his reluctance in telling the truth. And Samantha planned to keep it that way just a bit longer.

"Good. I'm glad." He sighed in heavy relief. "It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow. At any rate, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it."

"Are you sure?" asked Samantha with a slight raise of a fine brow. "You're not hiding anything else?"

The bastard prince seemed quite amused by the question and offered a loop-sided grin at her. "Beside my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That's it. Just the prince thing."

"So should I be calling you Prince Alistair?" she asked seriously. It would seem appropriate to Lady Cousland to address the prince with his proper title.

"No! Maker's breath, just hearing that gives me a heart attack!" The young prince recoiled in horror. "It's not true, anyhow... I'm the son of a commoner. It was always made clear that the throne is not my future."

_No, you are the son of Maric, you might not have a choice but to take the throne. Duty comes first._

"And that's fine by me," Alistair continued. "No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle... and more importantly, very popular with the people. Though... if he's really as sick as we've heard... no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't." He shook his head in denial. "So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some... nobody who was too luck to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

He had to know he had been sent to the tower intentionally. Samantha shot him a knowing glance. "That's not really what you think, is it?"

"Well... no," he admitted, then added sincerely, "What I really think is that I was lucky enough to survive with you."

That wasn't what she had expected to hear. "You are here with me. I think I am the lucky one."

"I can't believe I didn't say something sooner to you. I feel very unworthy of such a compliment." He flashed an apologetic smile and led the way down to the town.

Samantha watched him go for a little while longer. The Lady Cousland mentally added one more duty to her ever-growing list and pushed it to the highest priority: to protect the sole heir to the Theirin royal line. Her father and forefathers would approve of her decision. With a weary sigh, Samantha picked up her pace to catch up with her group and her prince.

* * *

Their group was stopped by a nervous young man who stood watch at the first stone bridge at the entrance of the town. They were told that the situation in Redcliffe was worse than the group had originally thought. Not only had the arl really been sick, there had been no news from the castle. To make the matter even worse, the normally peaceful village had been attacked nightly by some monsters. The soldiers of Redcliffe had managed to fend off monsters, yet it had not been without heavy causality. Another wave of monsters would attack tonight. The group followed the young man to meet with their leader, Bann Teagan.

"It's... Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They're obviously not simple travelers," asked a well-armored middle aged man as the group entered the chantry – a make-shift safe house for the locals.

"No, my lord. They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them"

"Well done, Tomas. Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl."

"I remember you, Bann Teagan," said Alistair. "Though the last time we met I was a lot younger... and covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" Bann Teagan asked thoughtfully. "...Alistair? It's you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it."

"Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things," said Bann Teagan grimly.

"You don't believe Loghain's lies?" asked Samantha in pleasant surprise.

"What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly." The bann snorted in ridicule. "Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man." Bann Teagan paused to regard the young woman in front of him. "So... you are a Grey Warden as well? Is it possible we've met? You seem very familiar."

"You may have known my father, from Highever..."

"Highever?" Teagan's eyes lit up in recognition. "Of course! You're Teyrn Cousland's youngest. Forgive me for not recognizing you, my lady. I believe last we met you were younger."

"What?" Alistair yelled out loud enough to send echo rang throughout the chantry's vaulted ceiling. He stared at Samantha incredulously as if she'd grown a pair of wings. "_You_ are the teyrn's daughter?"

Samantha could only offer him a apologetic smile.

"Alistair, you didn't know that? Ah, I apologize, my lady. I didn't mean to disclose-"

"It's quite all right. It was no secret. Should Alistair recognize me, I would not have denied my identity. Who my father was is not relevant to my being a Warden. I will forever be a Cousland, but now I am also a Grey Warden. I only wish to be treated as such."

Samantha could feel Alistair's eyes burning on her profile, but she ignored him for now.

"My condolences on your lost, my lady. What Howe did was beyond treacherous."

"King Cailan had promised to bring troops up north once the battle in Ostagar was over. But now..." Samantha shook her head sadly.

"Even Cailan knew. Of course he did..." Alistair mumbled under his breath, yet loud enough for her to catch every single word clearly.

"My brother might be able to help. Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts. The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... things... surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

"What evil things are you talking about?" asked Samantha.

"Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh... They hit again the next night. Each night they come, with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain started a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. I'm asking you, please... help us, help Eamon."

The two Wardens put aside their differences momentarily to exchange a look and immediately came to silent agreement. "Of course we will help."

The bann breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you! Thank you, this... means more to me than you can guess."

* * *

Samantha noticed Alistair had been giving her a stern look as they exited the chantry to prepare for the upcoming battle. It was probably not the best time for confrontation, but going into battles with grudges held would be even worse of an idea. She didn't even have the chance to start her explanation when Alistair stopped her with a small scowl on his face. "Was I supposed to recognize you as the teyrn's daughter?"

"No, of course not." Samantha shot him a glance. "But if you did recognize me at Ostagar, I wouldn't lie to you either."

"Well, forgive me for not knowing the face of the teyrn's daughter. In case you've conveniently forgotten, let me remind you: I was trapped inside the chantry for ten years." His sarcastic tone was now laced with more than a hint of bitterness.

And now he sounded unreasonable to her. Her brows furrowed, blue eyes blazing. "Do you honesty think I am that vain? I did not expect you, or anyone who's not from Highever to recognize me. I even tried to avoid soldiers from Highever when we were at Ostagar, instead of prancing around announcing their teyrn's daughter was at camp. Who my father was isn't important to you, or to anyone else!"

"Of course it's important!" He looked at her as if she'd just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "You're the teyrn's daughter! Hello, we have only two teyrns in the entire Ferelden."

"'Had'! Now there's only one left!"

"Shouldn't that make it even more important to tell me you're a Cousland? You should have told me at Ostagar!"

"And we had only one king in Ferelden. _You_ should have told me you're the _prince_ at first, but you didn't!" she replied indignantly. That was hypocritical of him to question her when he had kept his secret from her, and even lied to her when she asked him about his father. There was a rare spark of fire igniting inside her belly, burning away the calm demeanor she had inherited from her father and her poise from her mother. "Unlike you, at least I didn't lie about my father when I was asked."

"That's different! Arl Howe might come after you if he knew you're alive. You could be in danger." His concern was genuine and duly noted by Samantha. But right now, to her, he sounded too hypocritical for her to be touched.

"No more than what we have to face daily from darkspawn and everything else," she said with her voice raised unexpectedly. The lecture she had wanted to give him when he'd revealed his secret a short while ago, now flew right out of her mouth. "What about you? You put yourself in danger knowing you are next in line for the throne! That is reckless!"

"I told you I have no intention of seeking the throne! I hate that very idea," he retorted and grunted in annoyance.

"You may not have a choice. It's your duty," she reminded him curtly.

"'Duty'? Just because of my damned blood? I've never asked for it!" His scowl grew harsher.

The way he shrugged off all the responsibilities that came with his name almost made her want to strangle him. That was not the way she was raised. A scowl appeared on her face to match his own. "Yes! Just because of your blood. Like it or not, you are a Theirin. You can't change that. And because of my blood, as a Cousland, it's my duty to protect you as the last of your line in addition to all the other duties dumped onto me the moment both of my parents died!"

"I don't need your protection!" the bastard prince yelled back. "Don't coddle me like Duncan did. You are likely to be the last of your line as well, and who's going to protect you?" Words flew out of his mouth too fast, he could only watch with guilt when the fire in her eyes instantaneously melted into horror then sadness at the implication of her brother's impending fate.

It's one thing to have a nagging feeling in her guts that her chance to reunite with her brother was slim, but hearing it out loud from someone else was a rude awakening, a slam onto the wall of reality. It sent a confirmation that she was not a pessimist, but more of a realist. Samantha whipped around to turn away from Alistair, not wanting him to see the distress on her face, for she had no strength left to be the poised Lady Cousland any longer. But it wasn't until she turned around then she realized there was nowhere to hide. In the heat of the argument, both of them had forgotten they were just outside the chantry with people were around them. Their companions and local militants in the courtyard had probably heard every single words of their exchange.

"Samantha, I-"

She shook her head and waved a hand to dismiss his concern. She covered her face with one hand and took a few deep breaths to collect herself. She had no idea why she had lost it while she should never have, not when there was a battle in a few hours with many lives at stake. Being around this human mabari pup somehow had both brought out both the best and the worst in her. And now, Redcliffe needed her to bring out the best of herself forward for the upcoming battle. Her well-trained sense of duty returned and took over her emotion; the fire in her belly extinguished just as quickly as it had ignited.

Samantha hastily composed herself and squared her shoulders. Mustering all the dignity she had left, she approached her fellow Warden, and surprised him by taking his arm in her hand to lead him away from the crowd.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I didn't think it was necessary for anyone to know," she explained with her voice once again soft as they stopped at a more private corner. "It doesn't matter who my father was anymore, not to everyone else. But I was not about to deny it when Bann Teagan recognized me. Would you have treated me differently if I told you from the start?"

"I... Maybe," he admitted grudgingly.

"Then, you, of all people, should understand why I didn't tell you from the beginning." She looked straight at him, her eyes pleading.

"Well... yes. But it doesn't mean you shouldn't have told me. What if something happened to you, I don't know, Howe kidnapped you or something."

"He wouldn't bother. I am nothing but a brat to him, not a threat to his power."

"Yes, but, you can't be too careful. I can't let anything happen to you; I can't fight the Blight by myself!"

"And you won't. We're in this together, and we will see this through til the end," she vowed firmly. "Come, we have to prepare for the battle. We can talk more later."

"... All right," he reluctantly agreed. "So, we are even, huh?"

"Yes, we are." Samantha let out a weary sigh. At least they were even. Hopefully there would be no more secrets between them from now on.


	10. The Prince and the Lady

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Just a reminder, I usually put up multiple chapters each week. So don't forget to check back to see if you've missed some of them. I know I tend to skip things here and there to keep the story focused, but I don't leapfrog too much. This week, there are two. Enjoy.

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Chapter Ten: The Prince and the Lady

* * *

"_Ah! What a lovely little fishing town! You can almost smell the desperation of the local gentry, no?" - Zevran._

_

* * *

_

Dawn had come and Redcliffe was saved. It was Samantha's second major battle, but surely wouldn't be her last. Facing those undead creatures last night was no less terrifying that battling darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. But with hundreds of lives were at stake, the youngest Cousland had summoned all her courage to quiet the intense fear as the foul rotten corpses charged down from the castle above. The battle was well fought. And miraculously there was no casualty.

Her father would be proud.

But of course, she merely played a small part in the winning team. Without Morrigan's magic, Leliana's arrows, Sten's broadsword, Alistair's shield and blade, she would not have survived the slaughter, much less saving the village from those unholy creatures.

The group was granted rooms at the local inn to rest up after the overnight battle. Most of them had retired to their rooms. Most, except for the newest Grey Warden. Instead of resting after an overnight battle, Samantha chose to walk down the dirt-paved street and head towards the pier. She couldn't sleep; both post-battle rush in her vein and the faces horrible undead creatures in her mind had kept her wake. She took a deep breath of fresh morning air to clear her head, trying to calm her edgy nerves. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of fish assaulted her sense. She liked fish, but she could never get used to how it smelled like when it's uncooked. She was not a good cook - no, she had never even cooked once in her life. Nan, on the other hand, had been the best chef at Castle Highever. Or even in the entire Highever, in her not-so humble opinion.

She sorely missed Nan's fish. And she missed the old woman even more.

If only she had expressed her appreciation for her Nan more when she had the chance. If only she could saved her...

"It's not safe to wander around without your weapon, you know." A teasing voice announced itself from behind her. It was unmistakably Alistair's.

Samantha didn't turn to her new companion, but chose to slow her pace as he caught up to her. "The villagers don't have weapons with them, either," she retorted halfheartedly.

"Sure... But they have you to protect them. Without your weapons, who's going to protect you and the villager?" He asked, seemingly proud of his wit.

She shrugged and offered an offhanded answer, "You?"

His eyes widened at her retort. But she didn't notice her companion's reaction. She was focused on the wooden planks in front of her that made up the pier, trying hard to erase the images of undead creatures form her mind. Step by step, she headed towards the water, and sat down at the edge of the wooden structure. Her eyes landed on the peaceful lake, but not seeing.

He joined her, popped down heavily with a thoughtful sigh. Comfortable silence settled between the two Grey Wardens; each lost in their own thoughts.

It was no surprise it's Alistair who broke the silence first. "It's just like being home again. Except with more undead."

She turned and glanced at her companion. His eyes taking in the view of the lake; hers studying his profile.

It was hard to believe the easy-going and self-depreciating man was the heir to the throne. While Alistair did bear more than a passing resemblance to the late King Cailan, he was nowhere as … 'princely' as Cailan had been. It was not a surprise, knowing he had been told to be practically anything but a prince. Samantha briefly wondered how Alistair would have turned out had he been raised in court, if Alistair would just be a younger and darker blond version of Cailan.

He must have felt her gaze on him. "Something on your mind?" he asked without tearing his eyes from the scenery.

"Why did you keep your birthright a secret?" She carefully ventured into the topic that had them argued for the first time before the battle. She had promised him they would talk about it; Samantha was taught not to break promises.

He first turned to her with an raised eyebrow at her question, then quickly masked his surprise with a well-practiced teasing grin. "You never asked?"

Once again, he was hiding behind jokes and humor. If he could deflect, she could feint. "You didn't trust me."

Panic stuck in his eye as he widely shock his head; morning sun reflected on some lighter golden strands on his hair. "No, please don't think that. It's not that I didn't trust you. It's..." He let out a weary sigh. "Please, let me try to explain."

Seeing him pushing his hair back in exasperation suddenly made her feel guilty for goading him. She could guess why he had kept her in the dark, for she had also kept a secret from him. Both of them had done so with the same reason.

"The thing is," he began quietly with his eyes cast down, looking anywhere but her face, "I'm not used to telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew."

She looked at him with sympathy but remained silence.

"And then after the battle when I should have told you..." He dared to glance up and offered a weak smile. "I don't know. It seemed like it was too late by then. How do you just tell someone that?"

"I asked you about it, and you lied to me."

"Yes, I did. I'm sorry."

"I guess I can understand that. Just don't lie to me anymore."

"No more lies between us... I should have told you anyway. It was important for you to know. I guess part of me liked you not knowing." His voice drifted off; his eyes on hers, searching.

"You... enjoyed not telling me?"

He shook his head too quickly. "It's just that anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwards. I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair. I know that must sound stupid to you, but I hate that it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I certainly don't want to be king. The very idea of it terrifies me."

It was her turn to shake her head. "It doesn't sound stupid at all. You were told all your life not to be a in line for the throne. It's no wonder the thought of being king terrifies you." She had been too harsh on him yesterday, she now realized. All her life she had been drilled with a sense of duty as a Cousland, while he had been told that he would be nowhere near the duty that came with his name: being the potential heir.

"For all the good it does me. My blood seems certain to haunt me no matter what I do," he added bitterly. "I guess I should be thankful that Arl Eamon is far more likely to inherit the throne. If he's all right. I hope he's all right."

He dropped his head, sadness written all over his face. The human mabari pup looked as dejected as he felt under the cheerful morning sunlight; Samantha felt her heart simultaneously melting and breaking. She put a comforting hand over his and gently squeezed it, offering her silent support the partner fate had thrown to her.

The young prince let out a heavy sigh and faced his companion. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I... I guess I was just hoping you'd like me for who I am." He flashed a bashful smile. "It was a dumb thing to do."

"Don't be silly. I do like you for who you are." What was meant to be a passing thought slipped through her lips. She retracted her hand from his in shock, and wished he didn't catch any of that.

But he did, and it would seem he was just as surprised to hear it from her. "You do?"

She noticed she had become less guarded in his company for the past weeks. First she'd lost her composure yesterday, now she blurred out something that was just a thought. Samantha wondered what had become of her. As embarrassed as she might be, she couldn't take back on what she had already said. As he had just said moments ago: no more lies between them. "Yes, I do. And you don't have to be sorry, Alistair," she assured him with a shake of her head. "In fact, I should be the one who apologizes. I was too harsh on you yesterday outside the chantry."

"Harsh? That was downright bossy! I didn't know you had it in you," he said jokingly.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have put my own expectations onto you. We were raised very differently after all."

"Of course we were. You are _Lady_ _Cousland_, and I am just the bastard son of some indiscreet man who happened to be king." His teasing smile came back.

Samantha shifted uncomfortably.

"So when were you going to tell me, huh? Or were you not ever going to tell me if Bann Teagan didn't recognize you. Why didn't you say anything?"

"The same reason you didn't tell me you're the prince." She shrugged. "I wished to be accepted for who I am, not what my name is. Besides, in my case, it did not matter who my father was. I am not the heir to the throne."

"Rub it in, why don't you?" He groaned. "But, still, we should be careful in case Arl Howe's men showed up."

"I doubt they will. And they are no more dangerous than darkspawn. Howe's a score I would have to settle one day. I promised my father that much... With Cailan gone, Arl Eamon is my only hope to send troops to take back Highever." Her full lips pressed into a frown at the dimming hope of reclaiming what was rightfully hers.

"We'll go see Bann Teagan once everyone's rested up. He can get us into the castle to see how the arl is doing." He paused to give a thought some consideration before asking. "So, Cailan knew about you, huh?"

She gazed at him momentarily, not sure how to react to his sudden question. "We... have met in several occasions, yes. But I didn't expect him to recognize me right away when I met him at Ostagar."

"Why wouldn't he recognize you?"

"Because I look different now that I did when I last saw him a year ago."

"Let me guess: You've grown a head taller?" he asked in jest.

She had to smile at that mental image. "Fortunately, no. I was wearing a silk dress instead of an armor last time I saw him. And my hair was... different too, among all other things. There were no weapons, no dust, no blood."

He studied her intently after her statement, most likely trying to picture her in a pretty dress rather than her leather armor. She looked away and focused back on the lake, but made no attempt to stop his imagination from running wild.

"It must have been difficult for you to adjust, huh? You were probably spoiled rotten as the teyrn's daughter. We aren't exactly traveling in the lap of luxury here."

"I wasn't spoiled," said Samantha defensively. "Not by noble's standard, at least. I had to take endless lessons everyday, not just sitting around drinking tea and gossiping. I didn't even have a lady in waiting; I never had one."

"Oh, poor Lady Cousland," Alistair mocked in a friendly tone. "So, what kind of lessons did you have?"

Samantha glanced at the ripples on the lake and recalled, "History, politics, literature, swordplay, and archery. But I was never good at archery. At all."

"Why would the teyrn's daughter need to learn how to fight?"

"Why not? Anora took such lessons as well, or so I've heard," said Samantha with a shrug. "My father made sure Fergus and I had the same education. In case anything happened to either of us, the other could take over as the teyrn or teyrna of Highever. Beside, I am a Cousland. We all know how to use a blade well. Men and women. Even my mother herself was quite the battle maiden, too, when she was younger."

Alistair nodded thoughtfully. "I should have guessed that you're a noble."

"... Why? Because I didn't know how to light a camp fire or how to cook at all?"

"Right. That was a dead giveaway." He chuckled. "There's always something so different about you. It's the way you carry yourself, I think. You are always so... prim and proper. I haven't seen you slouch. Not even at camp. You sit in front of the campfire with your back so straight and all. How do you keep doing that? And then, your hands..." He kept on ranting, failed to notice her discomfort. "Those are not hands that have seen many days of work, even I can tell you that."

Samantha tried to hide her hands self-consciously at that remark. Small callouses were starting to form on her once soft hands; ugly bruises and cuts could to be found adorning her skin. She usually kept her hands in leather gloves to shield them from further damages. But this morning, along with her weapons and her pack, she'd left her gloves in her room at the inn.

"And then, there is your sword. It's too expensive and... fancy for someone who's just a commoner."

"My sword? It's in my family for generations. It was given to us by your ancestor, King Calenhad."

"So _that's_ the famous Cousland sword. I knew there's something about that sword when I held it in my hand back at the Tower of Ishal. Maybe I'll ask to borrow it later." He lit up and grinned at the potential new toy. "Great. Now I've lost my train of thoughts... Oh there is it. Yes. The way you handle your blades, it's obvious you have some good training, but you certainly don't look like a soldier-"

"Alistair, that's enough. I get it," she interrupted her companion, pleasantly surprised by his shrewdness. "You won't treat me any differently, I supposed?"

A mischievous smile curled up on his lips as his hazel eyes twinkled. "It depends. As long as you promise you'll only see me as Alistair, not some bastard prince."

"I promise. You will always by Alistair to me. Not dashing prince, not even heroic Grey Warden. Just plain silly Alistair."

He laughed in satisfaction, then let out a whiny noise as he heard his stomach growling. "Well, the infamous Grey Warden appetite beckons. Care to join me for breakfast, my dear Lady Cousland?"

Alistair stood up and offered his hand to his companion. She took it out of habit and let him pull her up. The warmth of his hand heated up her colder one rather soothingly. It was then she realized she wasn't the only one without gloves this early morning. Samantha couldn't deny that she rather liked this sensation, and felt a pang of lost when he released his grip too soon. "Lead the way, Your Highness."

"Hey! You just promised you wouldn't see me as the prince!"

"You did call me Lady Cousland first."

"...Well, fine. Let's hope they have enough food at the inn for you, _Samantha_."

"What can I say, _Alistair_, I am a growing girl."

Hazel eyes looked at her once over. "I'll say..." A playful swat smacked his arm. He let out a whiny 'ow', then they both broke into laughter as they walked back to the inn under the cheerful morning sun.

Horrible faces of undead monsters had been completely erased from her mind.


	11. Play the Game

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: The next nine chapters will be the second part of the story. Enter the courting stage. The tone will be lighter and fluffier. Enjoy while you can, things turn serious in the third part. Right now I have 26 chapters done, about 14 more to go. Editing takes up most of the time. It's a very bad idea to have two ongoing stories writing simultaneously, especially when both stories focus on the same pair of characters. I'm trying my best to distinguish each of them, and put this one in first priority. There's too much to lose if this story didn't make it to the end.

Thank you for reviewing the story. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know someone out there is entertained by this little story, and gives me a boost when self-doubt "what the hell are you doing writing all these" kicks in. Thank you for stopping by. Enjoy.

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Part II

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Chapter Eleven: Play the Game

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Afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of leaves over their heads as Samantha's group traveled on the path along Lake Calenhad. The view of the lake was magnificent. Gentle breeze disturbed the otherwise calm surface as the water reflected distant scenery like a distorted mirror. Despite the clear day, Samantha could barely make out a tiny structure in the middle of the lake in the far distance. Even though she'd never been there, she knew that lone structure built in the most curious location was none other than the famous Tower of Magi. That was their destination.

Samantha could only hope they would make it to the Tower and back to Redcliffe in time. For a boy's life was hanging in balance, waiting for the group to seek help from the Tower of Magi. A demon had possessed Arl Eamon's only child, killing soldiers in the castle just to turn them into undead monsters to attack the village at night. Many lives had lost, and many more would follow if they couldn't kill the demon. Anyone of Samantha's allies could have defeated the demon had it not chosen to reside inside the boy. Yet, it continued to use Connor as its shield, hiding inside his body. Samantha knew the demon had to be killed, and had to be done soon. The question was how. Somehow, everyone put the responsibility of making such life and death decision on the two Wardens, namely Samantha, as Alistair usually deferred all the decisions to her, even in this particular case. Or perhaps especially in this case, since Alistair had a strong emotional attachment to the arl, neither of them trusted that he would make a rational decision. The fate of a boy had been put in her hands, and Samantha almost couldn't stand the pressure, but she pulled through and made the call. It's time like this when she thanked the Maker for giving her Teyrn Bryce's levelheadedness.

The quickest and easiest way to end the possession were to either kill Connor, hence the demon along with him. And then, there was an option provided by the blood mage Lady Isolde had unwittingly hired: let Isolde be the blood sacrifice needed for a mage to enter the Fade and kill the demon there.

The first and most direct option felt wrong to Samantha. The demon had killed hundreds of innocent lives, not the boy. The only fault the boy had was being foolish enough to summon a demon to help his sick father. As for the second option, Samantha could not deny the poetic justice behind it. Everything had come down to Lady Isolde's foolish pride. Had she not hired a tutor in secret just to hide her boy's budding magical talent, none of these would happened. But Samantha had known the woman in the past. Isolde might be completely vain and utterly selfish, but she was not treacherous like Howe. After all, if being vain and selfish was a crime, almost all of the nobles in Ferelden would be criminals.

In the end, Samantha had made a huge gamble in choosing the hardest way to deal with the possession situation: to seek help from the mages. Leaving Connor under the blood mage's care until they could be back with Circle mages could potentially be very dangerous, should the blood mage not able to monitor the demon as he had said. But Samantha felt it was the best choice amongst the three, if everything went accordingly. It was an irrational gamble she had made, betting one young life against many innocent ones. If she would take time to reflect upon her decision, she'd notice that it was a gamble made due to the weakness of compassion for a boy who somehow reminded her of her own nephew Oren, if Oren had the chance to grow a few years older. The stake was incredibly high. If she won, all the lives would be saved. If she lost, hundred of lives would be gone in the name of preserving a boy's life; their blood would be on her hands, and she would have to live with that guilt for the rest of her life.

Still, the choice had been made, bets had been placed. The group was now traveling along the famous lake towards the Tower of Magi. Alistair had been most pleased with her decision; Samantha was not surprised about that. He had forgiven Isolde and genuinely cared about Connor's well being. If only the arlessa was just as kind and forgiving as the bastard prince she had once cast out.

If the bastard prince was bothered by the arlessa's attitude towards him, he certainly didn't show. His mood had been cheerful for the past few days since they'd left Redcliffe. Not once had he mentioned the arlessa's name. And right now, in this beautiful, sunny afternoon, walking on the scenic path along the lake, there was only one woman who had captured his undivided attention, and she certainly wasn't the arlessa.

"My turn to ask," said Alistair tapping his chin thoughtfully. The two Wardens had been playing a silly game of asking each other random questions to past the time. There was no rules, only requirement was to answer truthfully. "What was the most daring thing you have ever done?"

"You mean beside drinking poisonous darkspawn blood that could kill me?"

"Yes, beside that." He chuckled.

"The most daring? Let's see..." Samantha tilted her head to the side and pondered.

"Sneaking out of the castle?" Alistair suggested helpfully.

"I have done no such thing!" The Lady Cousland crossed her arms and tried to glare at him in mock anger, but her lips betrayed her and curled up in a smile.

"You've never sneaked out of the castle to go to the local bar?" he asked with a teasing grin. "I would have done it too many times if I were you."

"Perhaps because I am not into bar wenches, like the red-head in Redcliffe..." She sent him a meaningful look, expecting his cheeks to flush any moment.

And they did. "It's the atmosphere, not the women!" he protested indignantly. "Anyway, staying inside the castle all day is bad for your health. It's so... stuffy."

"I was born and raised in one, so I guess I was used to the... 'stuffiness'. But, there was this one time I sneaked out-"

"Ha! I knew you had a wild side underneath the poise!" Alistair interrupted with a laugh.

"It's not what you think," Samantha corrected him promptly. "I didn't sneak out to go to a bar, but to join a tournament fight."

"You did _not_!" He gasped, genuinely surprised.

"I did!" She laughed as she recalled that particular incident. "There's a tournament every year during the spring festival in Highever. I entered it last year. And won."

"They let the teyrn's daughter join the fight? That's not a fair fight, was it? Who would dare to raise his weapon against you?"

Samantha shot him a glance with a faint huff. "Fergus entered those tournaments every year when he was younger. His opponents never had problem fighting him."

"Yes, but... You are a lady, Sam!"

A fine eyebrow was raised to challenge him. "A lady who helped you kill that ugly ogre."

"True..."

"But you're right. I wasn't supposed to enter the tournament. My mother would never agree to that. Not because she didn't trust my skill, mind you. She did not want me to scare off all my potential suitors." Samantha rolled her eyes with a faint snort.

"I don't know about scaring off _all_ suitors. For me, I like women who could kick my ass. Not literally... but you know."

"No damsels in distress for you, then?"

"No, thank you." He shook his head in mock disgust. "I can barely take care of myself. I don't want to take care of another person constantly. Anyway, how did you enter the tournament unnoticed?"

"A helmet," Samantha answered proudly. "I told my mother I wasn't feeling well enough to join them at the festival. I sneaked out of the castle and signed up for the tournament with a fake name. Then when the tournament started, the viewing balcony was too far for anyone to recognize my dagger. I fought and won, round after round. It wasn't easy fighting with limited vision, but I managed. Imagine the look on everyone's face when I took off the helmet after the very last round." She smiled mischievously at her companion, her sky blue eyes twinkled.

"Especially your mother's, I'd imagine." He seemed more impressed by her mischief than her physical prowess.

She giggled. "Yes. Especially hers. She nagged my ears off at that night when she bandaged my injuries, but it was worth it. My nephew worshiped the ground I walked on ever since that day." Her smile was the happiest he'd ever seen on her; her entire face lit up at the memories of happier time in her life. "Anyway, that's the most daring thing I have done, beside all these Warden things. Now it's my turn to ask you a question."

He narrowed his eyes at her in fake suspicion. "You are not going to ask me to tell you any embarrassing tales, are you?"

"I could, if you wanted. But no, I'll go with simple questions for now. The day is still young, after all. Let's see... Why have you remained in the templar if you hate the Chantry? You don't seem the religious type."

"Have you seen the uniform? It's not only stylish, but well-made. I'm a sucker for good tailoring," claimed Alistair jokingly.

"Can't say I have. I thought templars wore heavy plate, mostly."

"That's just in public. In private we have these yellow and purple tunics, right? Much more comfortable, and you don't break the beds when you jump on them during a pillow fight."

Samantha stared at him incredulously at first, then couldn't help but laugh softly at that ridiculous mental image. "You had pillow fights?"

"Oh, I'm good at it. Don't you ever start a pillow fight with me. You'll lose. I've been trained, you see. On confession day we could go all night. Being a templar isn't all about chasing men in skirts and hiding behind priests, you know."

"You, in skirts? I think I'd like to see that."

"For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty skirt," Alistair insisted in a mock serious tone.

"That can be arranged. I do know where to find the best tailors in Ferelden," said Samantha who played along with a straight face of her own. "But, really, you don't have to tell me the real reason, if you don't want to. I was just curious."

"You don't really want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's really quite boring."

Samantha shrugged. "Then make up something more exciting. We are at least a day away from the Tower."

"I like the way you think. But I guess if you're really curious, there's no harm in obliging." He shot a glance over his shoulder to check out the rest of the companions followed behind, then leaned down toward her shorter form and lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "You know, I have a few much more interesting but embarrassing tales I can tell you later, when you're bored."

His voice tickled her ears, sending a shiver up her spine. The Lady Cousland held a breath and managed to control her muscles admirably, soothing away any ripple before it even appeared on her calm surface.

"The truth of the matter is that I did hate going to the monastery. The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me. I felt like Arl Eamon had cast me off, unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter. But I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it."

"What did you enjoy about the training?"

"The education, mostly, but also the discipline. You need to have a disciplined mind in order to use the abilities we have. It was difficult, but rewarding. I never really felt at home anywhere, though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so I kept it up."

"I can't imagine what life would be like growing up in a chantry. It must have been hard for a child to live under such strict rules, and not to mention very scary at least at first. I would hate it there too, were I you. I could barely sit through Mother Mallol's sermon when I was young." She wrinkled her nose at the distant memories.

He turned to observe her for a brief moment. "Well, living in the chantry is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. But they taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?"

Samantha thought she'd heard the word 'beautiful', but convinced herself either she had misheard it, or he had misspoken. "Not really, no." She shook her head with a smile, her long ponytail sent flying behind her head.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "You'd... want a gentleman to court you, wouldn't you? If... if you were to be courted by someone, that is."

Her face felt warmer at that sudden question. She wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly, or if he was indeed asking what she thought he was asking. Either way, instead of jumping straight to answer his question, she offered him a graceful way out of that topic if he chose to. "That counts as a question, you know. Are you sure you want to use your turn to ask me that?"

But he didn't back down. "Well... yes."

Samantha dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her and studied the shadows of the leaves on the path as she walked, composing herself for proper reaction. She could feel his eyes staring at her profile, waiting for her answer. What's the harm in answering this simple question? After all, the only rule in this game was to be truthful, right? With a warm smile, she turned to face him once more. "I'd like that."

He released a breath he was holding and returned her gesture with a bashful grin. "That's good to know. I'll... I'll have remember that."

Days after days, battles after battles, their partnership grew. But it was silly little moments like this when a special bond between them was truly forged. For they did not see each other as Wardens, nor as a bastard prince or a teyrn's daughter; any burdens that came with their titles were momentarily put aside as they let their guards down in each other's company and truly be themselves. For a brief moment in this sunny afternoon, the Blight had been temporarily forgotten, both of their hearts lightened, offering a much needed respite.

Side by side, the two Wardens strolled down along the scenic path by the lake. If they weren't fully armed in their armors, if they were traveling alone, the scene could have easily been from a beautiful painting depicting a young couple taking an afternoon stroll. Almost picture perfect.


	12. Dream a Little Dream

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: This one was one of the earlier chapters written, it was fun to write. Hopefully it's as fun for you to read as well. Another adjustment to the game is made, because it makes more sense like this.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Dream a Little Dream

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_Knock knock knock_

_Knock knock knock knock knock_

Samantha groaned and tossed in her soft bed, pulling the thick quilted cover over her head to drown out the unwelcome noise.

_Knock knock knock_

"_My lady, please get up."_

Reluctantly, she pushed the cover down and opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her sleepy eyes couldn't be more familiar: the faint cracks on the ceiling formed the same abstract patterns as they had been for as long as she could remember. Her feathered pillow and silk sheet readied to lure her back to slumber as they always did.

But not today.

The sound of knocking door became more insistent. "Please, my lady. If you don't get up now, you'll be late. Your mother will have my hide," pleaded a meek voice from the other side of the door.

Lady Cousland grumbled as she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her laced silk gown did nothing to fend off the morning chill. Almost blindly she grabbed a robe by the bed and wrapped it tight around her body. Stumbling across the room, Samantha flung open the thick wooden door and stared sleepily at a nervous looking elf froze in the middle of a knock.

"Pardon me, my lady," the elf servant sheepishly apologized. "Your mother has been looking for you. She said you should get ready soon."

Samantha frowned in confusion. She opened her mouth, tried to talk, but found her throat too dry to form any words. Taking her silence as a sign compliance, the elven maid stepped into her room and took her by the elbow gently, then settled the young mistress in front of the dressing table. Samantha blinked a few more times to clear her head as well as her vision, and stared at her own image in the mirror. Her long golden hair tangled in a mess, falling haphazardly over her shoulders. The side of her cheek she had pressed onto the pillow was slightly more pink than the other one. Her sky blue eyes glassy and dazed from recent deep slumber. In other words, she looked just like she always did when she woke up; nothing out of the ordinary. But something didn't sit quite right with the Lady Cousland this morning...

The maid took a hairbrush in her hand and began to untangled on the knots on Samantha's hair. Her hands were fast and nimble, obviously she had done this same task too many times. "Would you like your hair up or down today, my lady?" the elven woman asked as she brushed through a handful of golden hair.

The question was almost expected. Samantha had answered it as many times before as it had been asked every morning. She cleared her throat, struggled to find her voice. "Er... up?"

The maid nodded in approval. "Good choice, my lady. It'll accentuate your neck and show off your necklace."

Now, _this_ was new. "...what necklace?"

"You haven't heard?" The elven woman began to braid her hair with a silk ribbon weaving through each braid. "Your necklace arrived yesterday. There will be more gifts to come in the following days. The teyrna said you are to wear it today at your party. I haven't seen it, of course. But I've heard it's gorgeous."

Samantha's fine brows furrowed in confusion. None of these made any sense to her. It was as though she had been shoved into someone else's role in the middle of a play without a script. Only this particular part _was_ written just for her; she was Samantha Cousland playing the role of Lady Cousland. And she couldn't deny the warm feeling of familiarity. An inexplicable feeling of homesickness had instantly been cured the moment she had opened her eyes this morning; it was as though an unlimited amount of fresh water was provided to someone who was dying of thirst. The maid who was busy with her hair had been doing exactly that ever since she was a child. This room, _her _room, had looked exactly the same for the past nineteen years. She was home.

"What party, Tanna? And whose gifts?" The maid's name rolled off her tongue naturally. Samantha felt mildly guilty. How could she have forgotten Tanna's name?

Tanna shot the young lady a concern look through the mirror, though her hands never stopped working. "Are you feeling quite all right, my lady? You must have a bit too much wine last night, no? It's your engagement party, of course. And those are all your gifts from your betrothed."

Samantha choked at her answer. Tanna gasped and gently patted her young mistress' back. "Have some water, my lady." She poured a glass of water from the dresser nearby and handed it to the young woman. Samantha took a long drink. She could feel the cold water pouring down her throat and settling in her stomach. She could feel Tanna's gentle hand soothing her back to ease the cough. She could feel the tension of the braids on her head. Everything was real. Yet, it felt so surreal...

How could she have forgotten her own party? Her _engagement_ party? And just who was her betrothed? The was no way she could forget the man she was supposed to marry, could she? She was supposed to get married?

Before she could finish her long train of thoughts, once again, there was a knock on the door. "How is my Sam doing?" The voice piping in was none other than her mother's. The teyrna stepped in and approached her daughter with a disapproving shake of her head. "Tsk, still not ready, I see. Well, you'd better hurry, darling. The royal escort has arrived at the city gate an hour ago."

"What royal escort?" It seemed all she had done this morning was asking questions. Stupid questions.

The teyrna rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Still resisting the engagement?" She crouched down next to her daughter and took her hand. "I know it might sound like a political arrangement. But darling, it's not so bad. You are a Cousland. Where am I supposed to find a worthy match for you but the Theirin line? You are going to be queen, Sam. How many women in the entire Thedas can claim that title?"

_My betrothed is the KING?_ Blood drained from Samantha's face but her mother seemed oblivious to that fact. Tanna's nimble hands stopped as she proudly announced she had finished her work. Samantha glanced at the mirror; brilliant blue eyes widened in shock, staring back at her. The reflection was unmistakably her very own. She was Samantha Cousland, she wasn't playing someone else's role. Hundreds of questions flooded her mind simultaneously, but none could find its way out of her lips. Since when had she been engaged? To the _king_ no less? Still, what her mother had just said did make sense, in a very strange way. She was a Cousland. Who was she supposed to marry? To a Howe? Somehow that very thought brought an extremely bitter taste in her mouth. All of a sudden, marrying the king did not sound so bad in comparison.

Samantha found herself being dragged off the chair by her mother and positioned in front of the full length mirror as the two women started to undress her. Still shocked by the revelation, all she could do was to stare passively in the mirror as they put an exquisite silk gown on her. Watching both women fussing with clasps and ribbons, the Lady Cousland felt as though she was being dressed as an actress, getting ready to enter the stage for her debut performance. Part of it felt so right; it was everything she had dreamed of as a child. But a small segment of her mind kept screaming at her, urging her to rip the gown off and run away.

Running away? But where to? Her whole life she had known nowhere but Castle Cousland. She had traveled quite extensively around Ferelden with her parents, to be sure, but she had never been out there on her own. All her life, everything had been handed to her, done for her, could she even survive out there by herself as the spoiled daughter of the teyrn? Samantha seriously doubted that.

Yes, the thought of marrying the king started to sound rather appealing.

After making sure the ribbon bow on the back of the dress was perfectly tied, Teyrna Eleanor reached for a box she had carried with her and carefully opened it. Her smile brightened as she admired the content. "Say what you will about the king, but he does have excellent taste," claimed the proud mother while she turned the box to her daughter and showed her the necklace.

Samantha drew a sharp breath when she laid her eyes on the jewelry lying inside the padded velvet box. The chain formed an intricate yet delicate pattern, accented by small clear diamonds. In the center, five big teardrop-shaped rubies dangled down from the diamond-studded chain. Each ruby was bigger than a copper coin; each flawlessly clear in red and rich as blood. Samantha felt the coldness of the stones against the skin on her chest as her mother draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp. The weight of the necklace felt too heavy for it not to be real.

Still, she couldn't shake off the surreal feeling.

Eleanor studied her daughter's image in the mirror proudly, and put her hands on her Sammy's shoulders to give them a gentle squeeze. "Come, it's time."

* * *

The great hall in Castle Cousland was full of guests by the time Samantha arrived. Minstrels playing at one corner, wine serving at another. Vases of fresh cut red roses decorated the room and filled it with pleasant floral scent, yet it failed to soothe the knot in her stomach. She was led into the hall by her mother, who had soon abandoned her to greet other guests. It didn't surprise Samantha; the teyrna could be quite the social butterfly after all. Guests greeted and congratulated her as she passed by. She nodded and smiled politely as response, not trusting herself to say a word.

She drifted across the room aimlessly, hoping to find any familiar faces. It was then she heard her name. She turned and saw her father waving at her, beckoning her to join him by the fireplace. Next to him, stood a tall man in finest clothing. His face was undeniably handsome. The amber flame of the fireplace cast as strange glow on his blond hair, making it look almost red. His eyes followed her form appreciatively as she crossed the room to join them; a warm smile was offered to soothe her nerves.

She knew him - of course she did. He was her betrothed after all. Yet, somehow, Samantha couldn't shake off a mild disappointment when she saw him. Despite the faint ripple she felt from her heart, the Lady Cousland remained calm on the surface as she dipped into a perfect curtsey as soon as she reached the two men. "Your Majesty."

He reached out to take her arms in his hands to straighten her up. "No need to be so formal, my dear lady."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," she bowed her head slightly, as prim and proper as a noble lady should.

"No need to call me that, either," said the young man with a twinkle in his eyes. "To you, it's Cailan. Always. Just Cailan."

The music played louder. Or perhaps the crowd had somehow hushed in silence. The dashing young king extended one hand forth with his other folded behind his back. "May I have this dance?"

Samantha found no reasons to deny him. Nor did she truly wish to. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the center of the room. The noble guests parted as the pair passed through. His hand was very soft, his grip gentle. He stopped directly underneath the grand chandelier, turned and put his other hand on the back of her waist, pulling her a step closer to him. Samantha reflectively rested her free hand on his broad shoulder and settled her gaze on the golden embroidery on his collar. She'd had her share of dance lessons - as many noble ladies did, and she had actually quite enjoyed them, much to her mother's delight. Unfortunately, there weren't too many chances to practice her perfected steps since her last lesson. Samantha was suddenly afraid she had gotten rusty without practice.

The king started to lead, the Lady Cousland followed. Back and forth. Side to side. Release, twirl, and back to his arms. Step by step, she became more comfortable in the arms of the handsome man, as she relaxed and truly enjoyed the dance and his company. Step by step, all her doubts began to melt away; marrying this young king who seemed to adore her could truly be a blessing from the Maker after all. Step by step, the surrounding became darker, the chandelier brighter. The crowd faded away, leaving her alone with her king dancing obliviously.

Feeling strangely contented, she looked up to his eyes and smiled. His blue eyes shone brightly under the chandelier as he returned her gesture with a curl of his lips. But those eyes... Something weren't quite right about they were not captivating in this lovely shade of icy blue - they certainly were. Yet, somehow, she would prefer them to be in a warmer shade of hazel.

_Where did that come from?_

That single random thought of hazel eyes rattled her to her core. But her mind urged her to let it wander, let it dream. Samantha was too curious to stop her mind from wandering as she followed the king's steps gracefully. Her eyes settled on his flowing golden locks, and her mind went to work. What if the hair was different? Shorter and a few shades darker with a hint of red...

Warm hazel eyes instead of icy blue ones. Short dark blond hair instead of long golden one.

That particular face formed in her mind looked familiar. Too familiar.

Samantha dropped her hand from his as though it had burned her. She took a quick step back from the handsome king and stared at him in confusion.

"What's wrong?" The king seemed to be amused, not at all offended.

"No... This is not right," said Lady Cousland. "It shouldn't be you."

Still, the young king only smile kindly. "I see," he said. "Would you rather have me be this one instead?"

Icy blue eyes changed its shade to warm hazel. Long golden locks shortened and darkened with a hint of red. Skin tanned in a shade or two. Jaws became more square. And the morphing stopped soon enough. The king looked different, but not by much. And the new king certainly looked familiar. Very familiar.

She knew him.

She definitely knew him but she couldn't remember his name.

And then, he asked, "May I have this dance once again?"

That voice. She remembered that voice. The warm and smooth tone, often laced with hint of sarcasm.

"Alistair!"

Yes, it was Alistair. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be him – he was Cailan just seconds ago. She struggled to recall the very last moment before she had ended up in her warm featherbed... Demons. Tower. Templars. Mages.

And then there was a click inside her head.

The silk gown on her body faded, replaced by her leather armor. Her exquisite necklace turned into her simple ruby pendant. Her hair that had been done in a fancy braided bun was now held up in a simple ponytail. The great hall of her castle faded away around her. The weight of her blades on her back grounded her back to reality. Samantha reached for her blades immediately. "You are not Alistair. You are that... demon!"

The man in front of her sighed. His voice changed as though there were from multiple speakers. "Why can't you be contented with what I have given you? Does this not make you happy?"

"No," she lied. She had felt a strong sense of bliss momentarily before her own mind had broken the demon spell by changing Cailan's face into Alistair's. "This... None of this is real. This is not my home. You are not Cailan; Cailan is dead. You are certainly not Alistair. Stop wearing his face, and get out of my head!"

She charged at the demon with all the rage she could muster. She was angry with herself for being fooled so easily, embarrassed by her willingness to submit to such silly fantasy, furious with the demons for wearing faces of dead loved ones. She attacked the creature who was still wearing Alistair's face with fury she didn't even know she had. It was a one-sided battle, for the imposter held no weapon. She'd almost felt bad for stabbing him with a killing blow, but the fact the demon was using Alistair as disguise had only infuriated her further. Soon, lying on the floor was no longer an image of her trusted partner, but a lifeless demon.

Samantha took a few deep breaths to composed herself, trying to comprehend what really had happened. The sloth demon had probably dug deep inside her head to recreate her long lost home to lure her to stay. It surely had found a piece of her past that was quite hidden. But the fact it had used Cailan as a bait meant she was an open book to the sloth demon. For no one knew that just a few years ago, when she had barely reached the age of fourteen, she had developed a secret crush on the newly crowned king when her family had traveled to Denerim for his coronation. That silly infatuation had faded away as quickly and quietly as it had come. Still, Samantha had kept the childish fantasy safely tugged at the back of her mind, hidden and preserved as if it was a treasured childhood toy. It was a simpler and happier time. One that could never be reproduced.

With the demon now gone, Samantha sheathed her blades and headed to find her companions. She was glad none of her allies had found her in this dream; it would be too embarrassing for anyone to know, especially Alistair. The Lady Cousland took a final look at what had been the great hall of her castle, now revealed to be nothing but an illusion, and stepped up to a pedestal appeared nearby. Looking at the dead demon who had just worn his disguise, she briefly wondered who and what might be in Alistair's dream, then proceeded to rescue her trapped friends without delay.

* * *

The boat ride departing the Tower of Magi was eerily serene. The bright full moon lit up the night sky in a lovely shade of midnight blue; its mirror image reflected brightly from the rippled surface of the lake. The group had helped the Tower by defeating the blood mages and the demons. In returned, they gained a powerful mage ally and the Tower's promise to send help to fight the Blight – one treaty was honored, two more to go. The First Enchanter had also promised to go to Redcliffe to help young Connor. Samantha could only hope seeking the Magi's help was the right choice, that the mages would arrive Redcliffe Castle before the demon once again took control of the boy and harmed more innocent lives.

The boat docked with a sway. Morrigan couldn't get off soon enough, putting a distance between herself and their new ally Wynne. Leliana landed on the dock with a graceful leap. Alistair followed with a much less graceful one, then turned and extended a hand to the elder mage. Samantha couldn't help but smile at his chivalry, and watched as he helped the older woman off the boat. Then the hand returned, extended in front of her. Samantha glanced up at him with an eyebrow raised, while he merely shrugged with a loop-sided grin. She took it with an amusing smile, and leaped off the boat as he pulled her up. Either his tug was too hard or her bounce too strong, she found herself smashing squarely on his chest. His free hand reflectively held onto her back to steady both of them. The sheer closeness and the positions of his hands reminded her too much of the dance with the fake Cailan in the Fade. She mumbled an apology and stepped away awkwardly. Hundreds of thoughts and feelings came crushing to her mind – past and present; dream and reality; the late king and the bastard prince... So preoccupied she failed to notice he had held onto her hand a bit longer until she wandered out of his reach.


	13. Meet the Crow

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: When I first wrote about Zevran in one of the final chapters, I discovered I love to write about him more than Cousland or Alistair. So, here, Zevran has his own entrance, because I wanted to write about him fighting Cousland. If you level Zev up properly, watch him fight – the way he fights is a thing of beauty.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Meet the Crow

* * *

"_The Crows send their regards." - Zevran_

* * *

Sometimes, friends are met through fights. In this case, the fight was more of an assassination attempt. The morning was peaceful as the group traveled south along Lake Calenhad towards Redcliffe. Samantha never expected to be greeted by an ambush when a woman came out of nowhere to ask for help. But, that was the whole point of ambushing, wasn't it? Set the bait and wait for the bite. And carelessly, Samantha took the bait.

"Alistair, the mage!" Samantha yelled and pointed at the previously helpless looking woman who was beginning a chant.

Alistair ran towards the mage and quickly disabled her magic, then bashed her off her feet with his shield before finishing her off with a fatal blow. Sten cut through every lightly armored assassins almost effortlessly, drawing enemies to him by his sheer presence. Arrows started flying over Samantha's head, as Leliana fired her poison arrows to enemy archers, who had their own arrows aiming solely on the two Grey Wardens. And despite their differences, Wynne and Morrigan's combine magic spells worked together effectively cleared out the rest of the distant archers.

As for Samantha, she was oblivious to the battles going on around her, for one particular assassin demanded her undivided attention. A dual-wielding blond elf singled her out among the rest, and charged at her with speed and grace that would have left her in awe if she wasn't his target. So confident about his skills, the assassin even flashed a predatory grin before sending both of his daggers flying at her. Without a second spared to think, Samantha could only rely on her instinct and her reflex to act. Twin blades swung at her in a blur. She managed to deflect some of his blows, and somehow dodged the rest of his attacks. The assassin had her pinned at a corner with a series of his relentless attacks. Samantha knew she could not last much longer without initiating her own offense.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the assassin teased as he raised his twin daggers above his head and slashed them down.

Samantha grunted and blocked both his downcut blades with her sword. Her arm barely had enough strength to hold back both daggers. It was then she saw an opening. She quickly twirled her dagger in her left hand and drove it into the elf's unguarded abdomen. But she was too slow for him. The elf leaped back before her dagger could connect to his armor. For a few precious seconds since the beginning of the fight, Samantha was not on defense. She was not about to let the chance slide by. Without delay, she charged at the assassin and launched her attack.

"Now, this is getting fun," said the assassin with a grin while deflecting her sword with his dagger.

Four blades met as metal crushed with metal, providing a suitable background music for their dance. She slashed, he blocked. He stabbed, she dodged. The dance went on, back and forth. Samantha had no idea how long they had been fighting. It could be just minutes when it felt like hours. But one thing was certain, the blond man was slowly gaining an upper hand. And he knew it.

The elf pushed her back further and further. Her short-lived attacks was now reverted back to pure defense. It was as if he could sense her fading hope, the assassin seized the opportunity and let his blades fly even faster. Samantha gasped and desperately deflected every single strike. Her arms screamed in pain from defending when his hits were not only faster but much harder than before.

Then there was a loud 'thud'. The blonde man's amber eyes rolled back and was promptly knocked on the ground. He was rendered unconscious from a hard smash on the back of his head courtesy of Alistair's shield.

Samantha watched with wide eyes, stunned by the fast turn of events. She leaned forward with a hand over her heart and panted heavily, still couldn't quite believe it was over. The fight had left her dazed, but she noticed when Alistair raised his sword at the fallen man. "NO! Wait!"

"What?" Alistair froze in mid-strike.

"Don't kill him, yet," said Samantha between her breaths.

"Are you crazy?" Alistair glared at her incredulously. "He tried to kill you! Kill us!"

"She is right," Leliana chimed in with her melodic voice. "The archers were focusing on the two of you. And their leader on Samantha. It was an assassination attempt."

Alistair directed his stare at the bard. "Assassination? Us? Who would- ...Oh."

"You'd never find out if he's dead, would you?" The bard reasoned. "Tie him up and ask him when he wakes up. You can kill him later once you get your information."

"Fine. Fine," Alistair grudgingly conceded.

Samantha was grateful for Leliana's calm intervention. Her heart was pounding too hard in her chest to reason with Alistair. She was still catching her breath when the her former opponent was all tied up, lying on the ground.

She briefly glanced at Alistair and noticed the murderous look on his face. His eyes glued to the stirring form of the assassin; his arms crossed tight around his chest as though to keep his hand from finding the hilt of his sword. Samantha put a comforting hand on his arm to pry his attention away from the elf. "He is not going anywhere."

"And he won't. I'll make sure of it. He almost killed you!"

"I'm still alive. You saved me, again." She offered him a small but grateful smile, and watched as his expression softened a little.

"Mmm... what? I... oh," the assassin stirred. With his hands tied behind his back, and his legs bound, he shifted onto his side and glanced up at his captors from his rather uncomfortable position. "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."

"That could be easily rectified," warned Alistair.

"Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled. If you haven't killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?"

Samantha recognized his accent: Antivan. Her brother's wife, Oriana, had come from Antiva. Although Oriana had gradually lost her Antivan accent over the years, Samantha could still recall the first year or two when she'd first arrived. Samantha was young then, barely ten. And Oriana, eager to pleased her new family, had spent a lot of time teaching the youngest Cousland the language of her country, perhaps as a way to cure homesickness. The two sisters had grown close and shared a bond. At times, Oriana would even speak Antivan to her as some kind of private jokes.

"We have some questions for you," said Samantha.

"Ah! So I'm to be interrogated? Let me save you some time. My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

The Antivan Crows. Samantha had read about it from books, but never thought she'd meet one in person, let alone become their target. "Who hired you to kill us?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it."

The two Wardens exchanged a look; their unspoken guess had been confirmed.

Samantha carefully composed her face to a neutral expression. "When were you to see him next?"

"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then."

"_If_ you had failed?" The murderous tone still lingered in Alistair's voice.

"What can I say? I am an eternal optimist," claimed the elf rather cheerfully. "Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" His laughter was cut short as Alistair started to reach for his sword. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

Samantha stilled Alistair's sword arm. The wheels inside her head began to spin as she considered her options. She didn't quite want to kill the assassin just yet. "Does that mean you are loyal to Loghain?"

"I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine. You threaten his power, yes?" Zervan replied indifferently. "Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service."

His insight impressed her, although not as much as the speed of his blades did. "And now that you've failed that service?"

"Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself."

"And between you and us?"

"Isn't that what we're establishing now?" asked Zevran with a small grin. "Unless you're quite stuck on cutting my throat or something equally gruesome, perhaps you'd care to hear a proposal?"

"You tried to kill us!" said Alistair.

"Unsuccessfully! Besides, someone in your position can't take these things so personally, can you?" chided the elf.

"Yes. Actually, I can." Alistair's hazel eyes narrowed.

"Ah. Well, I suppose fair is indeed fair." Zevran sighed with disappointment.

"Talk. I'm listening," Samantha interrupted their exchange and ignored a pointed glare from Alistair.

"Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

Alistair immediately jumped between his partner and the assassin. "What? No! You think I'm royally stupid?"

"I'm only _hoping_ that you're stupid." Zervan winked at the man, then glanced at the young woman behind him. "And _you_ are royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous. Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."

"What did you just call her?"

Samantha stepped up quickly, before Alistair had the chance to kill the assassin. "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

"To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

Samantha was surprised by the genuine sincerity in his tone. "Won't the Crows come after you?"

"Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not... well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?" Zevran shrugged, waiting for his fate.

The wheels inside her head had stopped spinning; she had come to a decision. Although whether the decision was made due to sympathy, desperation, or admiration for his skills, she wasn't certain. But first, she would have to consult with her partner, who was standing rather protectively next to her. Even though she was often seen as the leader, Samantha respected Alistair too much to make decisions without his consent. The Blight was their fight; they were in it together. "Alistair, may I have a word with you?"

Alistair sent one final glare at the bound elf before following her to the other side of the path.

"I think we should accept his offer."

"What? You're taking the assassin with us now? Did he hit you on your head? Does that really seem like a good idea?" As she'd expected, Alistair was appalled.

"You have seen the way he handles his blades, we could use him."

"What I saw was the way he attacked you when he tried to kill you."

"Don't worry about it. He didn't kill me. I am fine."

"Don't worry about it? He just tried to kill you. Of course I'm worried about it!"

Samantha found him simultaneously endearing and infuriating, but she was not about to start an argument. "You were the one who told me Grey Wardens accepted all sorts of help. Why are you turning him away?"

"Because he tried to kill you," he repeated very slowly, as if to make sure she could hear every single word.

"But you saved me."

"And what is there to stop him from trying one more time?"

"You." One simple word was all she needed to express her trust in him.

She watched as his eyes began to soften. "And if I'm not around?" he asked skeptically.

"Has there been a day you're not with me ever since we met at Ostagar?"

"Well, no..."

"We are together almost every waking hour. And I suspect you won't be able to get rid of me until the Blight is over."

"Who says I want to get rid of you even after the Blight?"

The look on his face told her that she wasn't the only one who was surprised to hear that question asked out loud. But she quickly composed herself to focus on the discussion and let his comment slide. "Think about it: what would Duncan do in this situation?" Blue eyes held onto hazel ones, pleading. She saw his resolution slipped away at the mention of his mentor. It was a dirty tactic but an effective one. Samantha was mildly ashamed of herself for using the name of a man who had meant so much to him.

"Hmmm. All right, all right. I see your point," Alistair reluctantly conceded. "Still. If there's a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

Samantha smiled warmly at him before putting on a straight face and walked back to the elf to announce, "Very well. I accept your offer."

"A fine plan," Morrigan commented sarcastically. "But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you."

"That's an excellent advice for anyone," said Zevran, strangely cheerful for someone who was bound.

Leliana moved to cut the rope on the elf. "Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan."

"Oh? You are another companion-to-be, then? I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely."

The bard's aqua blue eyes rolled up high. "Or maybe not."

Zevran pushed himself up and approached the two Wardens. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear."

The assassin bowed solemnly before retrieving his weapons. Alistair tensed up as the blades reunited with their owner. Samantha laid one hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him, which failed judging from the glare he was sending to the blond elf.

Zervan casually sheathed his daggers, then gestured at the direction the group had been heading before his interruption. "Shall we?"

Samantha stiffed a weary sigh at Alistair's open hostility and nodded politely to her new companion."To Redcliffe, then."

The none too religious Lady Cousland said silent prayer to the Maker, hoping her decision to spare the assassin's life was a right one.


	14. Someone to Watch Over Me

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. First of all, I am not a writer, and haven't taken any writing classes. It's been almost four years since I had written anything before this story started, so I'm beyond rusty, to say the least. English is not my first language, so sometimes I'm still struggling with grammar. But, believe me when I say I do proofread many times before I post. And each time I comb through I'd find some mistakes that have slipped through. So, please consider this story a work in progress. I'll go back and edit it when I have more time. With Fallout New Vegas looming around the corner, it was my original intention to finish writing all the chapters before I get distracted. But it seems editing has taken most of my spare time ever since I posted it here, so finishing the story by October 19 is not possible. Still, don't give up on me just yet. I intent to see this story through. Writing some of the later chapters has almost made me cry; it'd be ashamed to have those chapters buried in my harddrive.

A big thanks to those who have put this little tale on your favorite list or on your alert. A story with an original character leading instead of a fan favorite one isn't always the most interesting thing to read, but you guys stick around until now. For that, I thank you. Two chapters this week. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Someone to Watch Over Me

* * *

"_So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?" – Wynne to Alistair._

* * *

When putting random people in one group, one could never expect everyone to get along. As young and sheltered as Samantha might be, she had never held onto the illusions that all her companions would become the best of friends. Even if she'd ever been that naïve before, her first two companions, Alistair and Morrigan, would have successfully shattered her fantasy. The former templar and the apostate mage had been fighting like cats and dogs even since Lothering. As sharp as their jabs could get, at times Samantha found their spiteful banters actually quite amusing. And most importantly, their banters had never been about her. If there were any, at least both of them had the decency _not_ to discuss about her right in front of her face.

Or, in this case, a few steps behind her.

"So let me ask you something, Zevran. What are you intentions with her?" asked Alistair who was walking a few paces behind her.

The 'her' in his question could have been Leliana, Morrigan, or Wynne. But almost instinctively, Samantha knew she was the subject of their discussion. Her back unconsciously jolted up in attention.

Zevran saw the slight movements of her back; nothing could get by the assassin's sharp eyes. "You speak of her as if she is not present. She is just right over there, you know..." There was more than a hint of smile in his velvety voice.

Samantha needed not turn around to see the elf's eyes trailing on her back. She could almost feel them on her as he spoke.

"Don't dodge the question. I'm serious." Alistair's tone suggested just as much, if not borderline hostile.

Samantha should have quickened her pace to put a polite distance away from them, but her own curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"Mmm. Do I detected a bit of jealousy there? Feeling territorial, are we?" asked Zevran amusingly.

Her face felt a little warmer. This conversation should not have taken place when she was around.

She briefly wondered if Zevran's implication had embarrassed Alistair just as much. But the unmistakable growl in Alistair's voice suggested otherwise. "I am just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all, remember?"

"And now I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life. It has brought us... closer together," Zevran goaded.

"Is that a smirk?" asked Alistair. If he had not sounded hostile before, he definitely did right now. "Are you smirking at me?"

Samantha had had enough of this banter. She whipped around and glared at both men; both were surprised by her sudden change of direction. Zevran recovered much quicker, shooting her a disarmingly handsome grin and a subtle wink. Alistair, on the other hand, had the decency to look slightly embarrassed as if he'd just realized she really could hear the conversation.

Before either could speak, Samantha stepped forward and grabbed Alistair by his arm. She left a polite 'excuse us' to the very amused assassin before leading Alistair aside. She pointedly ignored the curious looks from the rest of her companions as they walked pass by the two Wardens, and waited until no one else was within eavesdropping distance.

"A-leee-stair." She said his name very slowly and firmly with a glare, trying to get her point across.

Alistair put on his mabari pup face and countered too innocently, "Samaaaantha?"

Whatever lecture Samantha had in mind was now drained away. She absently wondered if she could ever resist his puppy look. "You still have a problem with Zevran joining us, I take it."

"Oh, you know it, Sam!" Alistair huffed. "Why did you let him join us? He did try to kill us, or did you get hit in the head and can't seem to remember that tiny little detail?"

"I know he did. I was there this morning." Samantha resisted rolling her eyes.

"Then why bring him along? So he can try to kill us anytime again?"

"We talked about it. We need every help we can get. He's an assassin, Alistair. Assassins kill when you are _not_ looking."

"I know that!"

"So, if he is with us, we will know exactly what he is up to. Or would you rather let him go, and forever wonder if he would ever ambush us again with a much stronger group next time? Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. My father taught me that."

"Yes, keep your enemy so close that he can easily poison your food, or slit your throat when you sleep." She usually wasn't on the receiving end of his sarcasm, but today, he didn't hold back.

Samantha shot him a sideways glance; her lips curled up faintly in a smirk. "Now you sound like Morrigan."

"Heeey! I don't sound anything like that swamp witch," Alistair protested.

Samantha ignored his whining. "We will keep an eye on Zevran, for now. But if you really wish him to leave, you go tell him."

"But I-" He shook his head with a sigh. "All right. For now. But who is going to keep an eye on him?"

"Aren't you already?" Samantha asked knowingly. "I noticed you have been glaring at him ever since he joined us. If I didn't know better, I would have thought you were interested in him."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," said Alistair dryly. "I was just looking out for you, Sam. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Especially when you're not looking?"

"I don't have eyes on my back, Alistair."

"That's why I have to look out for you! He always has his eyes glued to your... your hindquarters-" he stopped short and blushed. "Look, I am a man. I know what's going on in his mind when he stares at your- you like that. Trust me, his intentions are anything but good."

Samantha blinked in surprise and shifted uncomfortably. "I... didn't know that. I appreciate your concern. But I'm quite certain he has two other lovely targets to keep him busy."

Alistair rolled his eyes with a snort. "Morrigan will turn him into a toad the moment he tries anything. And Leliana... Well, you know what they say about Orlesian bards."

"What?"

"That they are spies. That they use their charm to seduce their targets," he informed her with a mysterious grin. "She's probably used to this type of …'attention'. And she'd stab him blind if she didn't like the way he looked at her. But you're-"

"I am...?"

"You're... different. You're you! You're the teyrn's daughter, _and_ a Grey Warden! He shouldn't stare at you like he's trying to stare all your clothes off or something," he blurted out exasperatedly. "Look, just be careful around him, all right? And try not to walk in front of him, lest he might stab you in the back. Or worse."

She took a moment to consider what he'd just said, then finally conceded with a grateful smile, "Thank you for looking out for me, Alistair. I mean it. I promise the moment he tries anything, I'll kick him to the nearest horde of darkspawn."

Alistair smirked at the mental image. "Good. Now where are all those pesky darkspawn hordes just when you need one?"

Samantha shook her head with a sigh, then hooked her arm with his and dragged human mabari pup along to catch up with the group. "Come, I'd like to be at Redcliffe by nightfall."

"Can't wait to see Isolde again, can you?"

"That Orlesian wallflower?" She let out a rather unladylike snort and let slip the nickname.

"Where did _that_ come from?" One eyebrow arched up; he was both surprised and impressed.

A mischievous grin slowly curled up on her lips. "My mother. It was her nickname for the arlessa. But don't repeat that! Let it be our little secret."

He nodded solemnly and vowed, "My lips are sealed." But his vow was broken in mere seconds. " …'Orlesian wallflower'. Ha! That's a good one!"

"Alistair!"

"Whaaaat?" Over-the-top innocent puppy eyes blinked disarmingly at her.

That earned him a playful swat on his arm.

"Hey, stop hitting me. I bruise easily." He feigned a squirm but never detached his arm from her hand. "Orlesian wallflower..." he mumbled and started to laugh. A second later, she joined in with her own silly snicker.

Some banters were best kept in private.


	15. Lost and Found

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Zevran's default battle tactics surprised me. He's the only companion with the default action to run to the player's side and attack enemies that are doing melee damages to the player. Chivalry at its best.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Lost and Found

* * *

"_I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's." - Alistair._

_

* * *

_

The great hall of Redcliffe castle was bustling with activities. Knights and soldiers stood by and watched warily as the First Enchanter Irving and his fellow mages prepared ritual for Wynne to enter the Fade to save Connor. As much as she hated her last Fate experience, Samantha would not hesitate to enter the Fate once more to save the boy, alas she wasn't a mage. Thankfully Wynne had volunteered for the rescue. For now, there was nothing else Samantha and her other companions could do to help but wait.

"You don't have to follow me around, Zevran," said Samantha as she wandered around Redcliffe castle after a warm and delicious meal.

"No? I thought you were supposed to keep an eye on me, Samantha. I'm making it easier for you." A tiny smirk played on the assassin's full lips.

"There is no need to keep an eye on you. If you wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now. There is no one around to smash your head with a shield this time." Samantha admitted defeat rather gracefully. She held no illusions that she could defeat the assassin in a fight, at least not yet. After all, he had been trained to kill since he was a child.

Zevran chuckled. "Ah. That's too bad. I rather like the idea of you staring at me constantly."

Samantha shook her head lightly and ignored the obviously flirting. Zevran had been rather flirtatious not just to her, but to all the female companions. It was as if he was playing a game, putting baits out to see who would bite.

"If you are not keeping an eye on me, then allow me to keep an eye on _you_. I've sworn to serve and protect you, after all." Zevran was true to his words. During a battle the group had encountered just outside Redcliffe, Zevran had bolted to her side as soon as a darkspawn had come charging at her.

"From the Crows? Zevran, we are in a castle. There are guards everywhere."

"Ah, but you're wrong, my dear. The Crows strike when you least expect it. I can count at least three ways to sneak into the castle unnoticed, eight different spots to hide and wait for the perfect time to strike. And that's just on the first floor." It was pure professionalism without a hint of arrogance.

Samantha couldn't help but look around her surroundings. She could spot two, or maybe three, places to hide. But eight? Still, she knew better than to question a professional about his expertise. It would be like telling her Nan that she could only see three visible ingredients in the stew while the old woman's recipe called for eight. Samantha knew as much about assassination as cooking – which was absolutely nothing.

She reached the arl's study and decided it would be a polite place to wait. One of the walls was lined with books. Samantha briefly wondered if the arl had a separate library in his castle like the one in Castle Cousland.

Zevran followed her into the study and glanced around with a bit too much interest. "Hm... Study and books. Just like brothel and whores. You can't go into one without seeing the other."

"I take it you are familiar with both?"

"Ha! More so with brothels, as you might have guessed." He laughed, not at all offended. "I grew up in one."

Samantha stared at him rather awkwardly, not quite sure if it would be appropriate to ask anything further. Zevran simply continued with a shrug, "My mother was a whore. I grew up in a whorehouse until they sold me to the Crows at the age of seven. It's the oldest tale in the book."

"I- I'm sorry."

The blond man shrugged again, this time with a grin. "Ah, beautiful and compassionate. What a rare combination. No need to feel sorry for me, my dear. Life in the whorehouse wasn't so bad, ignoring the occasional beatings. Better than those homeless urchins on the streets, no? I've even learned massage techniques from them!"

His oddly cheerful attitude amazed her. It was as if he purposely ignored all the bad things in life and solely focused on the good bits and pieces in between. Perhaps that attitude was what kept him going despite his unfortunate childhood.

"You think there are any interesting books here?" asked Zevran as he browsed the bookshelf. "I wonder if the arl had a copy of 'The Art of Passionate Love'. Not that there's anything new in that book that I don't already know." He chuckled to himself as he moved away from the shelves and approached the desk in the middle of the room. He leaned against the heavy wooden desk and discreetly hooked one finger onto the ornate handle of the top drawer, sliding it open without making one single sound.

"Zevran!" Samantha called out in a hush tone.

He put a finger on his lips and winked at her. "Just a peek."

Again, true to his words, he only glanced at the contents in the drawer. Judging from its size, the drawer was for parchments and pens. Zevran looked bored by the items inside, until something caught his eyes. "Um... what's this?"

His fast hand reached inside and fished out an item before Samantha could say a word. He lifted a shiny trinket up to his critical eyes and examined it up close. Unimpressed, he tossed it back into the drawer just as quickly. "Curious find in a castle. A cheap locket – a broken one at that. The arl could afford a thousand new ones. It must have been kept for sentimental reasons. Gift from a mistress, perhaps?" he reflected out loud.

The words 'broken', 'locket', and 'arl' clicked inside her head, forming a picture she hadn't expected to surface. "What's on that locket?"

"Andraste's symbol."

Samantha approached the desk in a few long strikes and opened the drawer. Zevran looked at her curiously as she reached for the broken trinket. She held the silver locket in her hand and examined it. Zevran was correct: the amulet wasn't a fine piece of jewelry. She could probably find a similar one in a local chantry. Yet, someone had gone through great pain to glue the broken pieces together. Her suspicion was now confirmed. She knew who the original owner of this locket was.

"You've just made someone very happy."

"With that? It's a copper a dozen. If you are interested in learning the art of treasure hunting, you are off a very bad start, my dear woman. Of all the things you could pick, you chose the least valuable one. Tsk, tsk!" Zevran teased with a wag of a finger.

"Sentimental value is priceless. I'm reuniting it with its long-lost owner. Excuse me, Zevran. I have a delivery to make."

"Ooh?" He raised one eyebrow, obviously intrigued, but didn't pry further. "Very well. I'll try to stay out of trouble in your absence."

"Thank you for finding it." Samantha smiled gratefully and left.

* * *

The castle in Redcliffe was smaller than the one in Highever. Yet, it was still a castle, and trying to locate one person within a castle would be very much like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially when no one within the castle had seen the person she was looking for.

Samantha searched for the almost every part of the castle, still couldn't find Alistair. She stepped outside the courtyard as her last stop, only to find it empty, except for the guards standing by the main gate. The moon was hanging high in the dark sky. Wynne was probably in the Fade by now. Perhaps she should just wait inside the castle. The reunion of the amulet and its owner had been years long overdue, adding for a few hours more to the wait couldn't hurt.

But the Maker seemed to have another plan. As a last-ditch effort, Samantha asked one the guards by the gate the same question she'd asked everyone else, and this time, the guard had the answer. He pointed beyond the outer gate towards the long stone bridge that connected the castle to the town.

And there he was, standing by the low wall of the bridge, looking at the dark water of the lake below the cliff, seemingly lost in his own world. Samantha wasn't sure if she should disturb him or leave him to his thoughts. But he saved her the trouble of unnecessary debate. "Did the Orlesian wallflower bother you again?" he asked without turning around.

"How did you know it's me?" She joined him by the edge.

"Who else would come all the way out here to find me?"

"Why are you here?" She glanced down. The spectacular view of the lake down below was hidden in darkness. "It's not the perfect time to admire the view."

"I used to come here quite often. It's as far as I was allowed to get away from the castle. Last time I was here, I was about this tall." He motioned somewhere just above the stone wall barrier, about half of his height. "I couldn't see much of anything below, so I would jump. Just to see what's down there. And now, all I need to do is to look down."

She tried to picture a young Alistair; the image of a mischievous little boy with round face effortlessly formed in her mind "You must be adorable as a child."

"Ha! I was a trouble maker. I told you, right? I once locked myself in the dungeon below for the whole day. I was always covered in mud and dirt. I doubt you'd find me adorable."

"Don't be silly. I find you adorable the way you are. Mud or no mud."

"You say that now. Wait until you see me covered in mud."

"I've seen you covered in dirt and sweat, and even blood. Some mud is not going to change my mind about you."

A goofy grin appeared on his face. "Aw. So you really think I'm adorable?"

"Like a puppy."

"That's just great." His voice dipped in sarcasm. "That's exactly what every man wants to hear from a pretty lady."

"Well, then, let me try another line. See if you like this better: I have something for you."

"Ooh? Really?" An eyebrow arched up in surprise. "You've bought me a gift behind my back, and now you're giving it to me under the moonlight? Where _are_ your intentions, my dear lady?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she jested. "It wasn't bought. It was found." She held up the amulet by its chain and let the locket dangled in the air.

"Aw! You didn't even bother to buy-" His grin dissipated as he took the swaying locket in his hand and examined it.

Samantha released her hold on the chain and waited patiently for the recognition to kick in.

"This... this is my mother's amulet. It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?" He shifted his gaze from the locket to her.

"Inside the castle, in the study."

"Oh. The arl's study?" He looked at the locket once again with a confused frown. "Then he must have... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand, why would he do that?"

"Maybe he meant to give it back to you."

"Maybe he did. He might even have brought it with him one of those times he came to see me at the monastery... not that I would have given him a chance, as belligerent as I was to him."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself. You were young."

"Thank you, Sam. I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his... when he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago."

"It's never too late." She took the amulet from him and looped the chain around his neck.

"Did you remember me mentioning it?" He studied her closely with a small grin while she worked on the clasp. "Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening to me when I go on about things."

"Of course I remembered." She adjusted the chain around his neck and patted the locket gently. "You are special- You are you."

It was dark, but she could tell his face was definitely a few shades too pink. Hers didn't feel too cool either. But he laughed despite the embarrassment, or maybe because of it. "Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing? Because I'm game. Where's the minstrels?"

Unfortunately, that particular image hit a sore spot. "No. No more dancing. I've had enough of it in the Fade."

"Oh? You danced in the Fade? With whom?" he asked with a teasing grin.

"No one." She turned and hurried back to the castle.

He followed close, still peeking at her with amusement. "So you were dancing by yourself?"

"Of course not."

"You were not dancing by yourself, but you were dancing with 'no one'... So, who was this 'no one'?"

She ducked her head and focused on the stone paved ground in front of her boots.

"Aw, you're not going to tell me, are you?" he whined.

Samantha knew she made a fatal mistake when she glanced up at him and saw his mabari pup face. She tried hard to steel herself, but once again she failed miserably. "I'll tell you all about it later," she conceded.

He grinned happily at his victory, while she sighed helplessly in defeat. Whether he noticed it or not, he had her wrapped around his finger. She had come to care about him more with each passing day, and, somehow, he had become her greatest weakness. A sudden realization snuck up on her – both terrifying and confusing: she was in love.


	16. Starry, Starry Night

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: And they are flirting up a storm. A few lines in the chapter are actual lines Alistair said in the game. He can be very flirtatious. But if you're reading this, you've probably seen all his pickup lines already. Enjoy the fluff while you can. It won't last, I promise. Chapter 15 and 16 this week. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Starry, Starry Night

* * *

The night was peaceful, if a bit chilly. The two Wardens sat close to each other by the camp fire, taking their usual first watch for the night. The fire fended off the chill rather effectively. And tonight, there was an extra help to stay warm in the form of a wine bottle. Wynne had received several bottles of vintage wine from Redcliffe castle cellar as gifts of gratitude for saving Connor's life. The elder mage had insisted the two Wardens to take one bottle to keep them warm during their night watch.

Stars were out twinkling above. Samantha wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and glanced up, admiring the diamonds in the sky. She recalled the story about Alindra and her soldier Leliana had told her earlier that evening. According to the bard, it was a tale of love so great and so enduring that it defied death. Leliana had asked if such powerful love existed. Samantha had no answer for her then. And now, sitting under the starry sky, she once again absently pondered on the bard's question.

"Can we talk for a moment?" asked Alistair rather tentatively, pulling her out of her revery.

"Do you have to ask?" Samantha rolled her eyes slightly at him with a teasing smile. The two Wardens had grown close over the time they had spent together; they became almost inseparable. Perhaps it was because deep down they knew they only had each other to rely on to end the Blight. It was a burden they shared amongst themselves but not with any other companions.

"Well, of course not. Or at least I hope not." He paused to compose his thoughts. "I just wanted to thank you properly for finding my mother's amulet. I honestly never thought I'd see it again."

"You should thank Zevran, then. He was the one who found it."

"Hmph, why am I not surprised he was the one who poked through people's study looking for trinkets..." He snorted derisively. "He might be the one who found it, but _you_ were the one who knew it wasn't just any broken locket. You were the one who actually listened to anything I said, _and _remembered them. If you weren't in the study at the right time, he would have tossed the broken trinket away without thinking."

"True, he almost did."

"See? That's why I wanted to thank _you_, not him."

Samantha smiled, amused by his reasoning. "You're welcome."

Alistair nodded, pleased to get one thing out of the way. "Well, also I wanted to thank you for saving Connor and Lady Isolde. You went out of your way to save the arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to."

"Killing Connor was my last choice. And I couldn't let Isolde die for her son when there was another way to solve the problem. I know the arl is very important to you."

"Yes," he admitted. "There's been so much death and destruction, it... well, it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the arl that much."

"If we can stop the Blight, we'll save much more."

"You're right. Hopefully by that time there's still enough of Ferelden left to save."

"There will be," said Samantha firmly. "You know, the person you should thank this time is Wynne. She was the one who went into the Fade."

"I know. I did thank her earlier. Although I know you would have gone into the Fade yourself if you could."

"And how did you guess?" Samantha took a delicate sip from the wine bottle. She was pleasantly surprised by the taste. Isolde might not always have good judgment, but she certainly had good taste in wine.

"You asked the First Enchanter if more than one person could go into the Fade. And I'd say I know you pretty well by now. At least I'd like to think I do."

She merely smiled and shrugged, never confirmed or denied his claim. There was no need – he knew.

"Speaking of the Fade, you haven't told me about your dreams." He reached for the bottle and drank from it. Judging from his face, he liked the wine as much as she did.

"My dreams? You mean the darkspawn nightmare? I thought you could see what I see."

"No, not that!" He shook his head. "I mean the one you had when you were in the Fade."

"Oh."

He leaned close with a playful glint in his eyes. "Hey, you were in mine and saw me making a fool out of myself. It's only fair that you'd tell me yours."

"I went into yours to save you, as I recall," Samantha pointedly reminded him. "Now if you had snapped out of it on your own, and saved this damsel in distress from the evil demon and its deception, you would have earned your right to experience my dreams."

"Ouch! You wound me!" He covered his heart with one hand and faked a wince.

"Should I kiss it and make it feel better?" His sarcasm had been rubbing off on her.

"Would you?" He raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Not a chance." She shot him down with a smile.

"Your loss, then." He laughed. "I don't know how you can resist me like you do."

"Oh, believe me, it's not easy," said Samantha in an equally playful tone. "But I have to, don't I? After all, _you_ are the heir to the throne."

"Do you _have_ to remind me of that, my Lady Cousland?" His eyes rolled in mild exasperation. "I thought we had an agreement of not mentioning any titles or anything."

"Fine. I'm sorry," She shook her head to stiff a giggle, although quite unsuccessfully so. "I'll make it up to you by indulging your curiosity, how about that? After all, a promise is a promise."

His hazel eyes lit up and leaned forward eagerly, like a pup waiting for its treats. Samantha picked up the bottle of wine and took another delicate sip. She could feel the fruity liquid traveling down her throat and settled into her stomach, warming it with a slight sense of tingle.

"I was back home. At the castle," she started softly. Her eyes became unfocused, lost in memories. "I was told there was a... certain party waiting for me. And I was dressed by a maid and my mother. There was a very pretty dress, and a very expensive necklace from– " She cut herself off abruptly and took another sip – a longer drink this time.

"From whom?"

She opened her mouth to answer but words got stuck. She took a deep breath and silently laughed at herself for her own silliness. It was just a dream, one wasn't even created by her own mind. It was no more than an illusion carefully crafted by the sloth demon in an attempt to trap her forever. "From my betrothed. It was supposed to be my engagement party."

Alistair blinked a few times, surprised by the plot twist. His expression shifted from one to another rather rapidly, before it settled on a curious one. "Have you... ever been betrothed?"

"Me?" She let out an unladylike snort and a snicker. "Oh Maker, no! No, I haven't. My mother used to complain for the longest time about how hard it had been for her to find me a match. Apparently, no one wanted me."

"That's not true."

"Well, I rejected every single one of her match for the past two years. Until she couldn't find anyone for me anymore in the entire Ferelden." The slight mischievous smirk on her lips spoke volume: she was proud of her rebellion.

"I find that hard to believe. No line of suitors waiting outside the castle for the beautiful Lady Cousland?"

"Beautiful?" Samantha was taken back. She had heard that word from him once or twice. Each time she had dismissed it as mistake. But tonight, the word came across clearly.

Alistair rolled his eyes as though she'd just asked him if the sky was blue. "Of course you are, and you know it. You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

His banter was flirtatious, but it was just another one of his jokes, at least Samantha convinced herself so. A lifetime ago back in Highever, she would have accepted such compliments gracefully. But here, sitting by the campfire, Lady Cousland was a shadow of her former self. Gone was the flawless skin, now decorated by endless supply of bruises and cuts. Dirt and blood adorned her daily instead of jewelry and perfume. Her once immaculately styled hair now haphazardly pulled back in one simply long ponytail. Samantha suddenly felt very self-conscious about those loose strands of hair tickling her face and her neck. Mildly irritated, she untied the ribbon on her ponytail in one smooth motion and shook her hair free of its constraint.

Samantha decided to focus on the latter half of his banter, staying far away from the 'beautiful' comment. "I would never hurt you." She turned to smile at her companion, only to find him staring at her.

"Nor I you," he replied with all sincerity. "So, who was the lucky man in your dream?"

She paused once again at the direct question and reached for another sip from the bottle. She could feel the warmth in her stomach had already spread around the rest of her body, especially her face. Or perhaps the additional heat on her cheeks was also caused by the embarrassment of the current topic. Samantha wondered how she should answer – _if_ she should answer.

It would be very easy to say one name: Cailan. But what would Alistair think about her fantasizing his dead half-brother? Well, she wasn't exactly fantasizing the late king; after all, he was the creation of the sloth demon. But she couldn't deny the brief moment of bliss when they'd started dancing. Her heart hadn't been that light for the longest time. Everything had been perfect, until her own mind had taken control and made minor adjustments on the king's handsome features, which had eventually morphed into her current companion's. She glanced over and studied Alistair's face, half afraid he would change into Cailan. But this time it stayed the same – the face she preferred.

"It was nobody." She shook her head dismissively.

"Nobody, huh?" He sounded not at all convinced. "All right. Have it your way. So you had a party. And then what?"

"Then, we danced. And I realized that man wasn't the one I wanted. The sloth demon used the wrong man as a bait to lure me to stay forever."

He took the bottle from her and finished it. "You know who you want, then?"

"It's-" She swallowed the next word before it could escape her lips. "It... doesn't matter. I know it's not him." She studied him for a moment longer, then asked the question that had be on her mind ever since her trip to the Fade, "Has anyone ever told you how much you look like Cailan?"

Alistair was surprised by the seemingly sudden change of topic. "No. Though I supposed it has to do with that fact that the very last time I stood next to him, we were both very young, he was at least a head taller, and I was covered in mud. Just a guess."

"You never saw each other since then?"

"Very sad, isn't it?" His sarcastic tone suggested otherwise. "Anyhow, I don't think he even knew I existed."

"Hm, I wonder. He did insist you accompanied me to the Tower of Ishal."

"Maybe he was afraid you might get lost on your way up? I don't know. It didn't matter if he knew of me anymore." He shrugged then asked, "So, you really think I look like Cailan?"

Samantha nodded. "You have stronger jawlines. Otherwise, your features are very similar. I wonder why no one has ever guessed that you're his brother."

"_You_ didn't suspect anything either, and you've been seeing me everyday."

"Point taken," Samantha admitted. "I should have guessed. It's not just your look, it's also the mannerism. You're both easy-going and charming."

"So you do notice my charm, after all. Here I thought you're immune to it."

Her lips curled up in a smile. "Disappointed?"

"Far from it," said Alistair. "I suppose it's not a bad thing to look like Cailan. You know, I've heard many women said he's handsome."

There was a faraway look in her eyes. "He was. Very much so."

"And you think I look like Cailan." Alistair leaned towards her with a very amused expression. "Tell me, is this your way of telling me _you_ think I'm handsome?"

Her cheek flushed in a deep shade of pink. "I-" She bit back an instinctive denial. There's no harm in telling the truth, right? With her back unconsciously straightened, her shoulders squared, she managed to look dignified despite the heat on her cheeks. "You _know_ you are handsome, Alistair," she said in the most nonchalant tone she could muster, as though she was saying 'you know two plus two equals to four, Alistair.'

"Maybe." The grin on his face widened. "It doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say that, though. Beats being run through with a sword any day!"

Samantha tried to stiff a smile but failed.

Alistair shifted even closer. An eyebrow raised, and a suggestive grin replaced his mischievous one. "So... is this the part where I get to say the same?"

Her face was burning. Still she was able to keep her poise and wit admirably despite being held under his intense gaze. "I'd rather not..." she trailed off on purpose, enjoying the disappointment on his face. Then a mischievous smile surfaced on her lips. "... being called 'handsome', I mean. Do you honestly think that I am handsome?"

He leaned back and laughed, loud enough to wake up some companions. "Well, then I'll have to think of something more provocative for you, won't I?"

Samantha rolled her eyes with a smile. "I can't wait."


	17. Of Lies and Broken Dreams

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Ferelden had cookies and cakes, it'd not be a stretch to say they had other types of dessert, would it? Cousland is dumb when it comes to slang. Can't blame her, because I don't think she's ever had a "Zevran" or an "Oghren" in her castle. Her exposure to euphemism was probably little to none. The thing Zevran said about "storming castle" was NOT my idea. It was my BFF Amanda's random suggestion, she remembered it from some comics. She's my one and only cheerleader in writing this story, without her I would have stopped two months ago. My husband, on the other hand, has always enabled me to give up and enjoy life instead of spending all my free time working on it. So I owe this silly story to both – one for encouraging and helping me, the other for letting me take time away from him.

This is a very long chapter, more than double the size of a normal one.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Of Lies and Broken Dreams

* * *

Denerim, the heart and soul of Ferelden. Samantha was no stranger to the capital city. It was less than a year ago that she'd traveled to Denerim for one of its many fairs. She would never have imagined her next visit to the capital city would be under very different circumstances, with a very different group of people. This time, she came here not as the teyrn's daughter, but as a Grey Warden – one with a bounty on her head, courtesy of the lies Loghain had spread. Leliana and Zevran had scouted earlier and found out that posters of both Wardens' likeness had been distributed to the guards throughout the city. Although it was far from perfect time to revisit Denerim, Samantha had no other choice but to take a chance, for she had to seek out Brother Genitivi for details on the location of the sacred urn.

Thankfully Denerim was the busiest city in Ferelden; it would not be hard to blend in with the crowd once they got through the main city gate. The problem now was to get passed the guards. Sten was ahead of them, readied to draw the guards' attention away from the Wardens. With Zevran and Leliana flanking her either side, Samantha pulled the hood of her cloak up to hide her golden hair before following a few other travelers to the city gate.

Samantha glanced over to check on Alistair and found him a few steps behind her talking to Wynne. With his shield and sword safely hidden underneath his cloak, he looked every bit like a harmless young man traveling with his dear old mother.

"Just relax and act normal," Leliana coached her as they approach the guarded gate.

"Perhaps I should tell you a joke to distract your mind, no?" Zevran volunteered.

"Another one of your dirty jokes? No thank you," Leliana declined his offer for Samantha.

"Come, now, my dear woman. Don't pretend you didn't like at least some of them. You didn't grow up in the Chantry, unlike Alistair." Zevran looked over his shoulder and smirked slightly at the other Warden behind them. "Speaking of our friend behind, I have a question, Samantha, if I may."

Samantha shrugged indifferently. "Of course. Go ahead."

"Has he... Hm, how should I put it delicately... Has he stormed your castle yet?"

Leliana's eyes first widened in surprise, then quickly narrowed at the elf. "Zevran!"

"My castle?" Samantha knotted her eyebrows in confusion. "I don't know if he's ever been to Highever, but I've never seen him at my castle before. And why would he want to storm my home?"

"What I meant was, have you two knocked boots yet?"

"What's 'knock boots'?" Samantha glanced at the assassin as if he was speaking Antivan. Perhaps it was an Antivan term?

Zevran raised an eyebrow at her, his amber eyes twinkled in delight. "Ah. It's something a man and a woman do naturally – or two men, or two women, or sometimes more than two people, which ever way you fancy. I don't have preference, some do. To me, the more the merrier."

But her confusion only grew. "I'm sorry, I don't think I und-" Samantha paused when Leliana leaned over to whisper to her. Her face immediately burnt bright red when she finally realized the nature of his question. "What? No!" she squealed in horror.

"You're kidding." Zevran looked at her, utterly amused.

"NO! Definitely not!" She was beyond flustered. Leliana's audible giggles didn't help either. "We've never even– We aren't even together... Just no!"

Zevran let out a hearty laughter at her expense. "Truly? You mean to tell me all those nights you two spent on night watch and nothing happened? Such a shame!" He wagged a disapproving finger. "Although the fellow does seem the type who doesn't know what hits him until it's too late."

"Hmm. I do wonder... what is taking him so long?" asked Leliana absently.

Face still warm, Samantha threw a suspicious glance at the bard. "What do you mean? Do I even want to know?"

"Did I tell you that Alistair asked about you?"

"What? When?"

"Oh, a while ago, just before we entered the Tower of Magi. He didn't specifically say your name, but I wasn't blind enough not to know."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but curiosity got the better of her. "...what did he say?" she asked tentatively

An impish smile curled up on the bard's full lips. "Oh, nothing much. He was just asking for some advice. I told him to be himself. And it seems to work rather nicely. His awkwardness is part of his charm, no?"

"Awkwardness could be... 'charming' to some, but I prefer the dangerous and sexy type," said Zevran with a smirk.

"Of course you do." Leliana rolled her eyes at the elf's comment then looked over her shoulder. "See? I told you it'd be easy."

Samantha glanced back at the gate far behind her. She did not realize she'd walked passed the guards in the mist of Zevran's embarrassingly personal questions. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if the assassin's intrusive inquiry was for her benefits. "Did you ask me those questions just to distract me, Zevran?"

"Hmm, did I?" The assassin tried to put on an innocent look. "Come, let's go to the market district. It has a lot of pockets to pick, and it's a perfect place for you to blend in when the guards are too busy with petty crimes. Not to mention, there's a place called the Wonders of Thedas I've been wanting to visit."

"Oh, good! I've heard you can get just about anything in Denerim's market district. I want to see if I can find some silk ribbons to decorate my boots," said Leliana excitedly. "I'll get you some too, Sam. Perhaps a nice red ribbon for your hair."

"Not red," Zevran disagreed. "Blue to match her lovely eyes."

"Red was the color of the rose blooming in the Chantry garden the morning I first met Samantha," Leliana pointed out. "Beside, it will match her nickname perfectly."

"What nickname?" Samantha asked skeptically.

"Oh, don't play dumb, you know... " A sly look appeared on Leliana's pale face. "The rose of Highever."

Samantha winced at the nickname and covered her face with one hand in both embarrassment and exasperation. She never thought she would hear that horrible name ever again, and certainly didn't expect the Orlesian bard to know about it.

"What are you talking about? What rose?" Alistair caught up with the trio and heard the last part.

"She didn't tell you?" Leliana asked in mock surprise.

"Tell me what?" Alistair frowned in confusion.

"Her nickname: the rose of Highever," the bard provided helpfully.

"The what?" Alistair didn't bother to hide his snicker.

"Oh, shut up! I didn't choose it. Never asked for it. I hated it. Still do!" Samantha protested defensively.

"So, who gave you such a... title?" Zevran asked with a knowing smirk. "A suitor, perhaps?"

Samantha shut her eyes with a sigh and nodded. If there was a hole in the ground, she would crawl in right about now. Alas, the main streets of Denerim were nicely maintained, no holes could be found.

"Wait... I thought you said you didn't have any suitors," said Alistair.

"And you believed her? Tsk!" Zevran clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Just look at her."

"Where did you hear about it?" Samantha asked the bard wearily.

"Oh, I've been in Ferelden for more than two years. Even in the chantry, I kept my ears open. Gossips about the nobles spread like wild fire, you know that. As a bard, I was trained to listen and remember details, especially news about the nobles – some information could worth a fortune. It simply became a habit." She paused then glanced at the blonde woman with another sly look. "I also know that you won the tournament last year in Highever spring festival, beating every man who entered. The crowd went wild the moment you took off your helmet, with your golden hair flowed over your shoulders, revealing the champion was none other than their very own Lady Cousland – the Golden Lady of Highever." The bard told the brief tale vividly with her signature dramatic flair, as if she had witness the event that day.

"How did you know all the details? Were you there?" asked Samantha, perplexed.

"No. But I can imagine. I am a bard; telling stories is what we do. Sometimes we have only a few details of a story, and we have to fill in the rest with our imagination."

"So, you _did_ win the tournament," said Alistair.

"Of course I did," said Samantha. "Wait... you thought I made that story up?"

"Well..." He shrugged with a sheepish grin.

"You believed she had no suitors, but didn't believe she won a tournament? You, my dear friend Alistair, have to work on your judgment!" Zevran let out a roaring laughter and slapped a hand on the other man's shoulder, oblivious to his grumpy face.

"Here we are, the famous market district," Leliana announced as they passed the inner city gate. "I suggest we split up, it's less conspicuous than to travel as a group of well armed travelers." The bard then reached over to push Samantha's hood off her head and untied the ribbon that held onto her ponytail. "Walking around in the marketplace with half your face covered would only draw you more attention. The wanted posters of yours did a terrible job in drawing your face, and it had you with your hair up," Leliana explained as she ran her fingers to comb through the younger woman's golden locks. "Now, you look even less like the image in the poster."

"Thank you." Samantha smiled gratefully at her good friend.

Zevran arched an eyebrow and smirked in approval. "Next time when you decide to undress each other again in anyway, let me know, would you?"

"Oh, you are so terrible!" Leliana huffed in exasperation and stalked off.

The assassin merely laughed and threw Samantha a wink before going off his merry way. The group dispensed, leaving the two Wardens alone.

"You know, I was thinking..." Alistair started tentatively as they walked to the center of the market district. "Since we are in Denerim, I was wondering if we have time to visit my sister..."

Samantha smacked her forehead as realization hit her in the head. How could she have forgotten about his sister? "That's right, your sister is here! Of course! I am so sorry, Alistair. I should have remembered."

"No, no, don't apologize. With everything going on – the Blight, the Sacred Ashes, and people asking for the mighty Warden's help every step of the way – I don't expect you to remember every last request from just anyone." he teased with a tiny smile.

"You know you are not just anyone," she chided with a sideways glance, but quickly regretted what she'd said when she saw his teasing smile widened – she'd played right into his hands.

"I know."

She wrinkled her nose at him and walked ahead. "Let's go find your sister and let _her_ deal with you."

* * *

It didn't take them too long to find one tiny house among many when they had the known address.

"Wait." Alistair stopped and looked up to the door number in front of one the small house. "That's... my sister's house. I'm almost sure of it, this is...yes, this is the right address. She could be inside. Could we... go and see?"

"Wouldn't you rather meet her on your own?"

"Do I seem a little nervous?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am. I really don't know what to expect. I'd like you to be there with me, if you're willing. Or we could... leave, I suppose. We really don't have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go-"

"Alistair!" She cut off his babbling. "Pull yourself together, will you?"

"Right. Pulling myself together." He took a few deep breaths. "Whew. Did that do it? Yes, maybe it did."

"I'll go with you."

"You will?" He beamed, then continued babbling excitedly. "Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist? My sister. That sounds very strange... 'sister'. 'Siiiiiissssster.'"

"Relax. Just be yourself. You are charming and adorable enough to melt the blackest of hearts."

"Really? You really think so?" Those pup eyes peered down at her, seeking approval.

Samantha stiffed a sigh. "Yes. Just stop babbling and she wouldn't have any reason not to like you."

"Right. Let's go. Let's just... go." Alistair hesitated in front of the door for a moment to take a few more deep breaths before knocking on it. There was some noise coming from inside. He tested the door knob to find the door unlock, and opened it. "Err... hello?" he called out tentatively.

The woman stepping out was quite unlike the 'sister' Samantha had seen in Alistair dreams. The Goldanna in the Fade was warm and kind, while the real one had a much harsher look on her face as she regarded the two strangers wearily. "Eh? You have linens to wash? I charge three bits on the bundles, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

"I'm... not here to have any wash done," Alistair explained. "My name's Alistair. I'm... well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I supposed I'm your brother."

"My, what? I am Goldanna, yes..." She frowned suspiciously at him. "How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

"He's telling the truth. Please just listen to him," Samantha chimed in.

"Look, our mother... she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She-"

"You!" Goldanna pointed a finger angrily at her brother. "I knew it! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead? Who told you that?"

"Them's at the castle! I told them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry, I... didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him; I'm... your brother."

Awkward he might be, but Alistair was completely sincere. Yet, Goldanna only scoffed in pure hatred, "For all the good it does me! You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off!" Every word was dipped in venom.

Samantha didn't have to look at his face to know that he was hurt, still she glanced over to check on him. The look of a beaten pup broke her heart. A rare fire ignited inside her belly and spread around fast. "That's hardly Alistair's fault, is it? You think he wished her dead? He has lost his mother, too!" She tried to keep her temper even, but her tone came out as sharp as her dagger.

"And who in the Maker's name are you?" Goldanna looked at her once over hostilely. "Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?"

"Hey! Don't speak to her that way! She's Teyrn Cousland's daughter! She's my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!"

"Oooohhh, I see. A prince and some noble. Both Grey Wardens, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?" she mocked with a sneer. "I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good! I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can he help with that, I got less than no use for you."

Temper flared and she could no longer contain it. Samantha scowled harshly, her mother's infamous temperament ran thick in her vein. "Was it his fault what his father did? He's an orphan and unwanted for all his life! You are his only family left! He's your _brother_! Not your golden-egg laying goose!"

"That so? Well, he isn't any brother I didn't have before he walked through that door. Unless he can make himself useful, he can just walk back on out of it, can't he?"

Her hand was itching to reach for her precious dagger, but she balled it up into a fist instead, stubbornly clinging onto her last bit of self-control. Samantha took Alistair by his arm and forced herself to focus solely on him. "Let's go, Alistair. All she wants is your money. Family shouldn't be like this. You don't need her. There's nothing for you here."

"You're right. I don't know why I came..." His dejected look pained her more than anything.

"I don't know why you came, either, or what you expected to find. But it isn't here! Now get out of my house, the both of you!"

And the mild-mannered Lady Cousland snapped. "Someone ought to cut out that tongue of yours before you hurt anyone with that again!" Her dagger was in her hand faster than anyone could react, spinning dangerously with light reflecting off its blade. There was a sick sense of satisfaction when she saw Goldanna's angry red face turned pale white.

"No!" Alistair stilled her dagger arm immediately and wrapped his arm around her torso to keep her from pouncing on his sister. "Just... leave her alone. It's her house, after all. Let's just go." He took her by her arm and dragged her out without looking back. Samantha turned and threw in her final glare before the door slammed shut.

The chill air outside almost immediately cooled her head. With her heart pounding rapidly inside her chest, Samantha wondered what had gotten into her. Threatening an unarmed woman with her dagger was anything but honorable; her father would certain disapprove of her action. But she reminded herself that she was defending her good friend, and Goldanna wasn't exactly unarmed – her weapon was her words. Blades he could dodge, but her words stabbed straight into his heart and merciless shattered his lifelong dreams.

"Well that was... not what I expected. To put it lightly," said Alistair, perplexed to say the least. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it." Sunlight filtered through buildings around them, shining on his hair as he shook his head in disbelief, revealing more reddish brown hue on his dark blond hair.

Samantha was lost for words. Just a short while ago, Alistair had been the most excited she had ever seen him. He looked almost like an attention-deprived pup readied to pounce on its long-lost owner the second the door opened. And now, he looked like said pup that had been kicked in its head by its cruel owner and was abandoned once again, whining and licking its wounds on the street of Denerim, all alone once more.

"I'm sorry it turned out like this." That was weak, Samantha knew, but there was nothing she could say to make him feel better.

"Yes... I'm sorry, too," said Alistair. "I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I... I feel like a complete idiot."

Samantha would not argue that he was too naive and too idealistic, but she couldn't find it in herself to fault him for being such. After all, she had been blessed by the Maker for a loving and supportive family, one he never had a chance to experience. Almost all his life, he had been secretly chasing a fantasy he had conjoined as a child, dreaming of an idealistic family out there waiting for him to join them. It was a solace for him to hide from the pain and loneliness. Now, his fantasy was broken by the very person whom he'd built his dreams upon. The urge of hugging the sad pup was mounting. Without knowing what else to do, Samantha gave into her instinct and stepped up to wrap her arms around him, ignoring the crowd in the marketplace. Startled at first, he returned the hug quickly, clinging onto her for dear life. Recalling how her mother used to calm her down when she was young, she patted the back of his head soothingly as he buried his face on her neck. Soon enough, she felt his tensed muscles gradually relaxed.

"You are not an idiot, Alistair." She let go of him and took a polite step back. "You have been told how much of an inconvenience you were and treated as such for all your life. Always unwanted and abandoned. It's _not_ idiotic to wish for unconditional acceptance, or a family to finally belong to. You have been trying too hard to be who you are told to be, never once really think about yourself – what you really want, what truly makes you happy. You should start to look out for yourself, and don't let anyone take advantage of you anymore. Or you'd never be happy."

"Yes. I suppose you're right. I should. Although it'd be nice to have someone who would care about me for a change. I thought I could find it from my half-sister."

That broke her heart more than it should. "You don't need her. You have others who care about you."

"Such as?" asked Alistair glumly. "The only person who ever cared about me was Duncan. And he's gone."

Temper once again threatened to flare as she was hurt by his obliviousness. She was standing right in front of him, standing by him all this time. How could he be so blind? Samantha resisted the urge to smack the back of his head where she had just soothingly patted a moment ago. A fine brow raised as her sympathetic gaze sharpened. "_I_ care about you." _More than you know._ "Or perhaps it matters not to you that I do?"

"No! I didn't mean that!" He panicked, then flushed a few shades darker as the implication of her words sank in. "I care about you, too, Sam. I really do. I... Thank you. I'm glad you came with me."

Her eyes softened once again. She let out a silent sigh of defeat as she conceded to the fact that she couldn't hold her anger against him for more than a few seconds. "Come. I know just the thing you need right now to cheer you up."

"Right," he said skeptically, but let her lead him away with her hand hooked onto his arm.

"You'll see..."

* * *

After settling her dear partner at a table in Gnawed Noble Tavern, Samantha then dropped more than enough coins to the waitress to deliver a glass of white wine to Alistair and left the bar. Soon enough, she came back with something in her hands.

"Where did you go-" His question was cut off abruptly when she placed an unexpected item in front of him. It was a small cheesecake with colorful bits of fruits garnished the top.

"Cheesecake. Give it a try." She sat across from him and handed him a fork.

He stared at the cake in awe. "Where did you get that?"

"From the shop my mother used to buy us pastries whenever we were in Denerim." She smiled at the distant memories. "They use nothing but the finest cheese to make their cakes. Your love affair with fine cheeses and this cake are match make in Andraste's embrace."

Skeptically, he cut a piece with his fork and took a bite. "Holy..." he mumbled with his mouth full, then closed it to savor the taste. The look on his face was pure bliss.

His reaction was all the reward she needed. Samantha was very pleased with herself, but duty awaited. She stood from the chair and pushed the glass of white wine closer towards him. "This wine will bring out the flavor of the cheesecake even more, try it."

"Where are you going?" asked Alistair, torn between following his Warden partner and staying with his true love of the moment.

"I'm going to find Brother Genitivi. He lives nearby. You stay and enjoy the cake."

"... are you sure?" he asked but seemed glad that he was given precious time with the cake.

"Leaving so soon?" A velvety voice laced with Antivan accent announced itself behind Samantha.

"Duty beckons, Zevran," said Samantha.

"Ah. You and your endless duties." Zevran shook his head in disapproval. "When will a pretty lady such as yourself get to have some fun?"

Samantha knew the assassin sprouted flattery as casually and frequently as he exhaled and paid no mind to his words. "Perhaps when the Blight ends, if I'm still alive?"

"Tsk, tsk. Then allow me to accompany you, so you'd be rid of those pesky duties sooner. Or at least we can make the process more fun. I'll make your duties fun," promised the elf with a wink and a handsome grin. He then downed his drink before putting it on the table.

It was then Samantha noticed two things: a beautiful flower garnishing the glass of Zevran's drink, and a small scowl on Alistair's face even with his beloved cheesecake attacking his taste buds.

"Shall we?" Zevran motioned the door with a tilt of his head, then offered Samantha the crook of his arm rather gentlemanly.

Samantha merely countered with a smile and a gentle pat on the his arm to turn him down. Zevran laughed it off with a casual shrug and headed for the door. She turned back to say goodbye to Alistair, only to find a small smirk of victory played on his lips as he took another bite from the cake.

* * *

Brother Genitivi's house was piled with books and research scrolls, just as one would suspect it would be for a distinguished scholar. A dark-haired middle-aged man came out and greeted the two guests, "Yes? What are you doing here?"

"Greetings. I am looking for Brother Genitivi," said Samantha.

"Brother Genitivi? Why?" asked the man cautiously.

Zevran stepped up before Samantha could answer. "We shall make our purpose known to Genitivi, and no other."

"Then I am afraid you will leave with your purpose unfulfilled," the man said. "I haven't seen Brother Genitivi in weeks. He's sent no words; it's so unlike him."

"And you are...?" asked Samantha.

"My name is Weylon. I am the assistant of Brother Genitivi," answered Weylon. "I am afraid something has happened. Genitivi's research into the Urn may have led him into danger."

"Why would searching for the Urn lead him into danger?" Samantha asked.

"Perhaps the Urn has been lost of a reason. I pray for Genitivi's safety, but hope dwindles with each passing day. I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I sent them after Genitivi and they too have disappeared."

"How do you know they disappeared?" asked Zevran.

"Well, they... haven't returned, and they sent no word either."

One of Zevran's eyebrows arched. "Are you so close to the knights? Why send _you_ words, hm?"

"I... I don't know. After what happened to Genitivi, can you blame me for thinking the same could happen to the knights?"

"Where did you send them?" Samantha asked.

"No, don't ask me where they went. You'll go after them, and what if ill-luck should befall you, too?" said Weylon rather nervously. "The search is a curse, on all of us. Some things are not meant to be found. I know that now."

Zevran shot Samantha a look, almost rolling his eyes. Samantha suppressed a sigh and said, "I am willing to risk it. If you'd please tell me where he went."

"All he said before he left was that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area."

"What exactly was he investigating?" asked Samantha.

"I don't know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn."

Zevran's amber eyes narrowed. "But you just said that he spoke to you and told you that."

"Y-yes, of course he told me, but I also went though his things to see if I could find other clues to his whereabouts."

The assassin took few steps closer to the man. "You sound nervous. Hiding something, perhaps?" His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was more than a hint of predatory tone underneath it.

"That's n-not true. I told you everything I know. Brother Genitivi told us- t-told me about the inn and that's all!" Weylon took a step back from the elf.

"Us? Who's 'us'?" asked Samantha, blue eyes glaring.

"Us? I mean me. T-there is no us... bah! Why do I keep up this charade? I gave you a chance to turn aside and forget you ever heard of Genitivi and the Urn. But you persisted. Now it has come to this... Andraste forgive me. I do this in Your Name!"

Samantha and Weylon reached for their respective daggers simultaneously, but neither drew as fast as Zevran. By the time Weylon managed to reach the hilt of his weapon, he felt a sharp blade sank in between his ribs, twisting, and traveled straight up into his heart. Zevran held his dagger still for a brief moment before pulling it out, then leaped back so quickly not a single drop of blood could spatter on him. He then casually wiped his dagger clean on the clothing of his most recent kill before sheathing it. This was the first time Samantha had seen the assassin truly in action. She had see him in battles many times by now, to be sure, but not when he was taking a life in one smooth motion, so fast she'd miss it had she blinked longer. Every motion was so calculated and effective, almost elegant in a morbid way. If Zevran truly wished to kill her to finish his job, she would have died a hundred times by now, without ever given the chance to scream.

"I knew he was lying," Zevran commented casually as if nothing had happened. "Guess it's time to search for clues, no? I wonder if there's any treasure buried underneath all these piles of books."

Soon, they found something more disturbing that clues. There was a body dumped carelessly at the backroom, presumably belonged to the real Weylon. Samantha frowned in disgust at both the decaying body and the way it was so thoughtlessly tossed; the smell and the sight made her stomach turned. She quickly ran out of the house for fresh air before she got sick. Although the air in Denerim market district was always mixed with different spices and various distinctive smells, Samantha was thankful that it was more than fresh enough to quell her upset stomach.

Zevran stepped out shortly after with a research scroll in his hand and announced with a dramatic flair, "Next stop: the Village of Haven. Wherever it is."

Samantha let out a weary sigh. Wherever Haven was, she had no choice but to continue this wild goose chase that the Orlesian wallflower had sent them on. She could only pray to the Maker that they'd find the ashes in time to cure the arl, _if_ it really could cure the man.

* * *

Alistair looked up rather abruptly as Samantha sat down across from him once again. She noticed both the cake and the glass of wine had been long gone. She took it as a good sign.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no. It's all right. You know, I've been thinking..."

"What have you been thinking about?" she asked and waited patiently for him to come to his own terms.

Alistair leaned back on the chair and set his gaze high above her head, eyes unforced, losing in his own thoughts momentarily. "Back when we left Goldanna's, you told me I needed to look out for myself more than I do. I'm beginning to think you were right."

A proud smile started to curl up on her lips as she waited patiently for him to continue.

"I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and think about myself for a change, or I'm never going to be happy," he declared firmly with a nod.

Samantha popped an elbow on the table. Resting her chin on one hand, she looked at the once-kicked pup across from her with pride. The mabari pup was finally growing up. "It's about time, I say."

Alistair nodded again in agreement and looked squarely into her eyes, his face determined. "Then from this point on, I'll be looking out for myself more. I should have done this a long time ago." He leaned towards the table, closing the distance between them. "I just wanted to thank you. Meeting you is the one bright spot out of everything that's happened."

Warmth crept up on her face, but she maintained her poise. "Thank you. That's very sweet. But don't thank me, thank yourself."

He smiled happily to himself, then got up and offered her the crook of his arm, very much the same way Zevran had done a short while ago. "Let's go. We've got a lot left to do."

She shook her head in amusement and took his arm as she stood up. He was more than pleased that she accepted his offer while turning down Zevran's, so much so he didn't bother to hide a victorious grin as the pair headed for the door.

"So how did it go with Brother Genitivi?"

"He might be in trouble. The assistant in his house was a imposter. He attacked us-"

"What? Why didn't you tell me that just now?"

"You were... talking?"

"Right..."

"He didn't get a chance. Zevran finished him before he could start."

"Of course he did," Alistair said dryly.

Samantha shot him a look. "It seems Brother Genitivi is in somewhere called Haven."

"Never heard of that place. Is it even on a proper map?"

"We need to ask around."

"All right. But... can we stop by the Wonders of Thedas first?"

"To look for a map of Ferelden to find Haven?"

"No- I mean... Hey, that's a good idea."

"So what is it that you are looking for?"

"Nothing in particular." Alistair chuckled sheepishly. "Arl Eamon once bought me a miniature golem doll, there... when I was young. _Really_ young."

Samantha laughed softly at the image of a young Alistair with his precious golem doll as the pair entered the Wonders of Thedas. Just then, something inside her mind clicked. She released her hand on his arm and watched him drifted away from her.

"Where do they get all this stuff?" he mumbled to himself. "I wonder if they have any miniature golem dolls...?"

There was another click. A long forgotten picture formed inside her head, and Lady Cousland smiled.


	18. The Golem Connection

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Written months ago, this was one of the first three chapters that started it all. It's gone through three revisions because Cousland has grown into a different character than I first envisioned her to be. Chapter 17 and 18 are up this week. You won't believe the amount of time I've spent on these two chapters. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: The Golem Connection

* * *

The bustling Denerim marketplace became relatively quiet after dusk when most of the merchants had packed and gone for the day. Cradling a small wrapped parcel in her arm, Samantha pulled her hood up to fend off the rain as she exited the most famous shop in Ferelden. Making sure her newly acquired item was safely shielded by her cloak, Samantha hurried back to the inn they were staying before the rain soaked through her clothes. She was thankful to be spending a night at a proper inn instead of camping out of nowhere once again, especially in a rainy night. It would be a lie if she said she was used to sleeping on the cold hard ground of her tent. Perhaps it revealed her upbringing as the spoiled daughter of the teyrn, but Samantha was certain she would never get a goodnight sleep at the camp. She would simply pass out due to exhaustion, to be sure, but it would never be a restful sleep. Even though the bed at the inn wasn't feathered, at least it was a proper bed with a mattress and a pillow. The simple thought of not having to camp at least for one night was enough to put a spring in her step, not even the cold rain could dampened her spirit. She could only hope the item she was so carefully shielding against the rain would be enough to lift up someone's spirit as well.

A rush of warm air welcomed her as she pushed open the door to the inn. Samantha took a moment to shake off excess water before entering the premise. Pushing her hood down, she ran a hand through her damp hair and dried her face with her sleeve. Her parcel, thankfully, was saved from the rain. Now, she had a delivery to make. Her life was made easier when she spotted a dark blond man sitting by himself at a small table. The bar was relatively empty, she was quite certain he wasn't here to 'enjoy the atmosphere' as he had once put it. With a barely touched half pint of ale in front of him, she could guess why he was there. One glance at the look on his face confirmed her suspicion: he was brooding.

With a shake of her head and a silent sigh, Samantha approached Alistair with her parcel carefully hidden underneath her cloak. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, gesturing to an empty seat next to him.

"Oh... it's you..."

"Hello to you, too."

Hazel eyes looked concern after he took a good look at her. "It's raining out there. Where have you been?"

"To get you this." She took the empty seat next to him and put the small parcel on the table.

"What is it?"

"The royal crown of Ferelden."

"Right. Of course it is." He laughed dryly and rolled his eyes at her. "You risk catching a cold just to get me the crown? You really want me to be king, don't you?"

"No. I just want you to be happy."

His sarcastic smirk melted into genuine smile as he unwrapped the package. "I wouldn't be happy if you got sick because of me, you know? Royal crown or no– _Maker's breath!_" He gasped as he laid eyes on the item. Judging from his wide eyes and slacked jaws, it was even better than a crown. "For me? Wow! Just... Wow! Where did you get that?"

His face lit up brighter than all the lamps inside the bar. The dark cloud hanging over his head instantly dissipated. He took the item carefully in his hands and grinned; it was a miniature golem doll, one very similar to the toy he once had when he was young.

"You were wondering if they had this when we were at the Wonders of Thedas today. And guess who found it just now?"

"You heard that? Did I say that out loud? Of course you caught it when I was mumbling again."

"It wasn't easy finding the right one. There were a few, but this one looks like the one you used to have, doesn't it?"

Alistair nodded thoughtfully, admiring the toy statue in his hands. "It sure does. Although this one is smaller. Maybe because I am much bigger now, I don't know..." He paused then frowned in confusion. "Wait... How did you know which golem I had?"

"I wasn't caged inside the castle for my entire life, you know. From time to time, I used to travel to Denerim with my parents. Sometimes for the fairs, sometimes for some boring noble gatherings at the arl's mansion." She noticed the wheels inside his head started to turn, though something hadn't quite clicked just yet. "Such social events would be bored a young girl to tears, don't you think? So, when my mother was busy socializing and drinking, I would sneak out and go 'adventuring' on my own. The mansion were full of boring adults. But outside... It was a whole different world. The garden, the stable..."

Samantha paused and let the last word lingered. Patiently she waited. And there was the click.

His back bolted up straight and gasped at the realization. "That was... you?" Leaning close, he studied at her face as if he had never seen her before. "That _was_ you!"

She nodded and smiled. "Your hair – it was lighter I remember."

"Well, yes, it got darker as I got older. Must be the water in the Chantry." He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. "But... how- when did you realize... I mean, it must have been twelve years."

"I didn't remember anything at first," she confessed. "Then you told me about staying with the arl's stable..." She frowned slightly at the treatment he had received. "And you mentioned having a golem doll when you were very young... Well, I do know how to put two and two together."

His smile broadened as fragments of memories began to resurface. "Yes... I think I remember. I've always wondered who that weird girl was."

"It was none other than Sammy Cousland."

"Right... I remember now. Sammy was the name," said Alistair with a slight chuckle at the distant memories. "You and your pigtails and your fancy dresses. You looked so out of place playing at the stable."

"The stable had always been the highlight of the visits. It had the best toy, the only toy: your golem," she teased. "And the straws. Let's not forget the straws. It was fun to jump on them."

"Why, of course, the straws. It sure beats jumping on a featherbed, doesn't it?" He rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"If it's good enough for a prince, it's good enough for me."

"Bastard prince," he corrected.

"Bastard prince is still a prince, Your Highness."

"Maker!" He choked. "Don't call me that!"

"What? 'Your Highness'?" She blinked way too innocently. "As you wish, my Prince."

"Stop that! Not so loud!" He tried to look stern but failed. Instead, he shook his head in defeat and chuckled to himself. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

"I apologize." She dipped her head jokingly. "Consider the golem my peace offering, then."

He let the matter dropped and turned his attention back to his precious new toy. With a sincere smile, he looked back up at her. "Thank you, truly."

"It's not the most impressive gift, but you are welcome."

"No." He held her gaze. "I mean thank you for everything, Sammy. The golem, the amulet, and... everything."

Her cheeks suddenly felt a bit too warm despite her damp clothing clinging onto her skin, but she didn't look away.

"You don't mind if I call you 'Sammy', do you?"

A sweet smile appeared as she heard the familiar name once again after a few months of absence. "Not at all. My family used to call me that."

"Good." He looked away with a faint bashful grin and cleared his throat.

Samantha was glad to see he was now more relaxed. The golem did its job marvelously. "Care to tell me why you were sitting here all by yourself?"

"I was just thinking about... everything."

"About Goldanna and Arl Eamon."

He looked at her, surprised, but he quickly recovered with a forced chuckle. "I guess I really shouldn't be surprised anymore. It seems you can read me like an open book."

"What can I say? It's my secret talent."

"Really? Then, tell me, what am I thinking about right now?"

She studied him intently with narrowed eyes. "You... want to take all my clothes off."

"WHAT?" He squealed in absolute horror and pushed himself away from the table, almost tipped over the ale had she not been fast enough to steady the mug. "Andraste's flaming sword! NO! No, no! That's not what I- Not now! I mean- NO!"

"Relax, I jested. I jested." She giggled and leaned back on her chair.

"I wasn't think about that!" he repeated defensively, his face flaming red.

"I know. I know that's not what you were thinking about. You wanted to talk to me about what happened today, but you didn't know how to say it. I was trying to take your mind off of it for a second to help you relax. Does it help?"

"You've planted a very distracting image in my head, and now I've lost my train of thought," he complained with a huff, still blushing furiously. Taking a long deep breath, he spent a few moment to clear distractions out of his mind. "I was thinking about Goldanna, yes. I still can't believe I have wasted my entire life fantasizing the family I didn't know, all while never once appreciated the person who actually took care of me."

"Arl Eamon."

He nodded. "With the way things turned out with Goldanna, the arl is the only family I have left - if I could even call him that."

"You have m– us."

"But for how long? Until the Blight ends?"

She had no answer to his questions.

"I would never have known how much Arl Eamon cared if you had not found the amulet. I was such a terrible brat, wasn't I?" He smiled, but there was no real humor behind it, only self-depreciation. "I supposed all bastards are like that."

"It's not too late. Ashes or no ashes, we will find a way to cure him, and you will have you chance to talk to the arl," she said firmly with her soft voice laced with steel. She might not truly believe it, but she had to give him hope, however faint it was.

Alistair stared at her for a moment, perhaps searching for reassurance. "You are right. We will find a way to cure him," he agreed with a firm nod and a smile. This time, the smile reached his eyes. "Who am I kidding, you are always right. Well, mostly."

She let out a not so ladylike snort. "My mother would respectfully disagree."

"Your mother would be proud of all the good you've done for everyone, especially for me. Maker knows what I would do if you weren't there with me at Goldanna's."

"You would have been eaten alive?"

"Probably." He made a face and shook his head. "You scared me a little today – well, more than a little. You weren't really going to attack her, were you?"

"Of course not," she lied. She didn't know what she would've done. Her mind had been clouded with only one thought back at Goldanna's: that woman was hurting Alistair and she had to be stopped.

"Good. She may be a shrew, and I probably won't see her again, but she's still my half-sister."

Seeing him still defending that woman irritated her more than it should. That tiny flame in her bSammy threatened to reignite and explode, but she contained it somewhere successfully.

Yet, Alistair obliviously continued, "You looked like you were about to take her down. I've never seen you like that."

"I was just standing up for you," she said defensively and threw a mild glare at him. She was more annoyed with herself than his comment, all because she still had no explanation for her own outburst earlier that day. "I hate to see you get hurt," she justified to herself out loud.

"...I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything, just listen." She stared straight at him. There was a rare sharpness in her tone. "You know we are in this together. I've promised you that we will see this through together, every step of the way – the treaties, the battles, and everything in between. I will stand by you, always, be it to face your shrew sister or the archdemon. And I swear on the Cousland's honor that I will protect you with my life if I must, not because you are the royal heir and it's my duty to do so, but because I–" She quickly pressed her lips tight together, horrified by the realization of what she was about to say, and just how close the words were about to slip out.

He waited for her to continue, but she never did. "You...?"

She took a deep breath and carefully composed her face to a neutral expression, despite the poundings of her heart. "I have lost everyone, too, Alistair. I am as much of a homeless orphan as you are. Fergus is..." She paused with a frown. She couldn't find it in herself to say the word 'dead'. Her voice began to crack when she continued, "... He is still missing, you are the closest to a family that I have left. My home is now here – at the camp or an inn, wherever we are – with you. I cannot– I will not lose you too."

He was beyond stunned by her words. "I... I didn't know you felt that way..."

She regretted it immediately as words flew out of her mouth. He certainly did not need to hear that. After all, what good would it do beside making her feel extremely exposed and vulnerable, almost as though she was being thrown to a horde of darkspawn while being both naked and unarmed. She was appalled by her own lack of self-control, and confused by the momentarily lapse of judgment whenever she was around him. And it scared her to no end now that she realized just how reckless she could be all for the sake of protecting him. Still, Samantha managed to keep her poise admirably even though she wanted no more than to go hide in the bed for the rest of the evening. "Well, you do now." She arched an eyebrow nonchalantly and straightened her back.

The few seconds of silence that followed was the most awkward moment in her life.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his face flushed pink, Alistair stumbled to find words, "I– er..."

Samantha decided to spare herself the embarrassment and him the agony of finding things to say. She pushed herself up from the chair and straightened her cloak out of habits. "I should go."

"Sammy..." He took her hand in his, caught her by surprise. "Oh, Maker! Your hand is cold!"

She let him grab her other hand and warmed them up with his. Her well-composed facade softened into a genuine tender smile as warmth spread from his hands to hers rather soothingly. "It's been a long day, Alistair. I would like to take a hot bath before I really catch a cold." She gave his hands a squeeze before releasing them.

Perhaps it was because she caught a glimpse of disappointment on his face, or perhaps it was due to nothing but a silly impulse, Samantha reached out and brushed her fingers down the side of his face very gently. "Goodnight, Alistair."

"Goodnight, Sammy..."

She hurried back to her room and didn't stop until she slammed the door shut. Leaning on the wooden door, Samantha ran a hand over her face and found it burning hot. She forced herself to draw a few deep breaths to clear her mind, trying to quiet all the thoughts and doubts swarming inside her head. _What have I done?_


	19. La Vie en Rose

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: One of the most difficult chapters to write. I tried to avoid writing this for a while. The scenes are too iconic to those who play through Alistair's romance (probably all of you), it's quite intimidating to put every detail in words. If I failed, I'd be flamed by Alistair fans (also, probably all of you). Also, somehow I feel this is something very private between those two, when both are extremely vulnerable, we really shouldn't be watching. Yeah, I have no problem writing flirty bits, and I love writing Zevran's innuendo-filled dialogues in one of the later chapter (hope that'd get a chance to see the light of day, still not sure yet), but when it comes to extreme fluff, it's hard. I'm weird. But, I also have a feeling some of you have been waiting for this chapter for a while (actually this one and chapter 22, I'm sure), it'd not be fair if I skipped this chapter, would it?

Because all of you have stuck with me since the boring beginning, you deserve to know some random trivia. One of Cousland's lines was from Lord of the Rings by Éowyn. She was one of the three characters I based Cousland on. The other two are Samantha from Vagrant Story (my version of Samantha, the one that's been in my head for more than ten years), and Princess Ashelia from Final Fantasy XII. Look wise, because in my mind Samantha and Princess Ashe look basically the same (they have the same creator, and look very similar to each other in sketches), Cousland looks like either of them – a longer haired version of Ashe.

So with that much random info as peace offering, I hope you'd not flame me for this chapter. Yes, I'm rambling, because I'm nervous about posting this. This chapter concludes the light and fluff Part Two: The Courting Stage. Expect a gradual change of tone from now on.

Thank you for the support, it makes me feel incredibly warm and fuzzy knowing someone is actually reading this, all the late nights aren't wasted for nothing.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: La Vie en Rose

* * *

"_Everyone know that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled – the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was – a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say: 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'" – Leliana._

* * *

It had been only three weeks, but things in Redcliffe had already begun to settle back to normal, or at least as normal as a village could be after being attacked by undead creatures. With Arl Eamon's life still hanging on balance, the group had no intention of lingering around the town much longer. Still, they needed supplies and a well-deserved rest after traveling to and from Denerim. A goodnight sleep at the Redcliffe castle would be a much welcomed break from camping in the middle of the road.

According to an antique map Samantha had acquired from the famous Wonders of Thedas, Haven should be no more than a few days away from Redcliffe, yet strangely no one had heard of the village, not even Bann Teagan. The chance of finding an unknown village based on an tattered old map was slim, yet however slim that chance was, Samantha had no choice but to move forward. Tomorrow the group would once again be on the road, this time traveled west of Redcliffe, on what Sten had repeatedly claimed to be a fool's errand. If only Samantha could bring herself to reveal her motivation for saving the arl was a bit more selfish and personal than what it appeared to be; it certainly wasn't just for the love of Ferelden. The Wardens desperately needed the arl and his army to fight the Blight, to be sure, but Alistair also needed to reconcile with his surrogate father, and she needed the arl's help to reclaim Highever.

So west they would go, continued with their wild goose chase. Samantha had never been to that remote part of Ferelden. Bann Teagan warned her weather west of Redcliffe would be much colder, she didn't look forward to camp in snow. Upon knowing their next destination, Lady Isolde ordered her maids to provide each of them a nice warm cloak and necessary travel gears. The arlessa had become much more humbled and genuinely friendly to Samantha after the ordeal with Connor. Perhaps Isolde was simply grateful for what they'd done for Connor, or perhaps she was desperate for a somewhat familiar face outside her castle, she had taken Samantha's hand and greeted her with a warm hug when the group had arrived earlier that day. In a strange way, Isolde had watched Samantha grew up; a few times each year, the arlessa would see the youngest Cousland at some social gatherings, watching her grew taller each time they met. Even though Isolde and her mother had never been the best of friends, there was an undeniable familiarity between the two ladies. Samantha understood the need of seeing a familiar face, and the comfort it would bring to the troubled arlessa. She accepted the arlessa's hospitality with grace and gratitude, and the arlessa made certain she saw to every need Lady Cousland might have – from a hot bath, to a change of clothes while her armor was being repaired and her traveling clothes was being washed. Isolde had been trailing Samantha ever since they'd arrived, coddling her almost like a mother would. And now, with the arlessa busy supervising the kitchen staffs for tonight's dinner, Samantha finally had a chance to enjoy some quiet moment.

The long stone bridge outside Redcliffe Castle offered one of the best views of Lake Calenhad. Samantha would not have known about this little secret spot had she not found Alistair here last time they had stopped by Redcliffe. Breeze from the lake felt stronger at her high vantage point, thankfully the velvet dress Isolde had provided was warm enough for Redcliffe's weather. Samantha tucked a strand of her finely combed hair behind her ear and leaned over the stone wall to admire the view of the lake below, seeking a rare moment of peace and solace. Fishing boats had begun to docked and the fishermen were busy unloading their hauls for the day. If she concentrated hard enough on the mundane yet vital activities far below at the lake, she could almost pretend life was back to normal, that there was no Blight looming over them. Almost.

"I see you have taken over my favorite spot," Alistair announced himself from behind. Stealth was never his strong suit, she had heard him approaching but chose not to move.

Samantha straightened herself and took a step back from the stone wall. "Plenty of room for one more." She glanced down at the length of the bridge. "Care to share?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before." He looked her over a few times.

"Samantha Cousland of Highever at your service." She lifted her dress daintily to dip into a perfect curtsey. It all came back naturally to her, from walking in a long and somewhat cumbersome dress to performing a curtsey. Simple things as such made her feel at home, finally home. A few months on the road could never make her forget her roots. Underneath the cuts and bruises, the dirt and blood, she was and would always be Lady Cousland. "You'd probably make fun of me, but I admit I am more comfortable in a long dress than in leather armor. But, I can't wear a dress to battles now, can I? Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of silk and velvet?"

"I suppose..." Alistair replied weakly and continued stared in awe, but Samantha just smiled at him before turning her attention back the view below. In truth, Lady Cousland was not unused to being stared at by men. And now in a nice dress with her hair down, Samantha was mild surprised just how easily she could revert back into her old role, and just how comfortable it felt as though she had slipped back into a pair of favorite shoes.

He moved to join her without his usual witty comment and remained very quiet. Samantha felt his eyes on her profile for the longest time and finally turned to face him with a friendly questioning look. It was then she noticed he had been holding something in his hand.

"Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?" asked Alistair as he handed her a flower he was holding – a rose with deep red petals.

She took the flower from him and sniffed at it. "Hmm. It looks like a rose and smells like one. Let me hazard a guess: it's a rose?"

"Aw, I thought I could trick you," he played along, but there was a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"It's beautiful. Is it the same one you've had for a while now?"

He nodded faintly. His eyes glued to the deep red petals instead of meeting hers as he continued, "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'"

Her eyes studied his features while his studied the rose in her hand. The sun was setting, casting an amber glow on him. His hair darkened with more prominent reddish tone. The corner of his lips curled up slightly as memories floated. "I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

The miracle rose in Lothering, according to Leliana's story, was now in her hands. The very same flower the bard had seen the morning she'd met them, had miraculously remained fresh. "That's a nice sentiment. This is probably the rose flowered from the dead bush in Lothering. I'm glad you saved it from the taint." She took one more sniff, enjoying the rosy scent, before handing it back to him. But he made no move to take it back.

"I thought that I might... give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you." He glanced up nervously to look at her.

Three years ago when a corny suitor had compared her to the roses in her mother's garden, Samantha had despised that comparison and the nickname that had come forth. Yet now, somehow the same comparison brought numerous butterflies flustering in her stomach. Her face began to warm up despite the chilly breeze. It was her turn to drop her gaze down to the rosy petals. "Thank you, Alistair. That's a lovely thought."

"I'm glad you like it. I was just thinking... here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy. I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you want a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst this... darkness." His smile was sincere, his face tinted a light shade of pink. Alistair might never be as suave and smooth like Zevran, but his awkwardness was endearing, and it was just the way she liked him.

She couldn't quite keep her lips from curling up in a shy smile. "Thank you. I feel the same way about you," she confessed.

"Really?" He blinked in surprise with his face turned a few shades darker in pink, but quickly he recovered and blurted out jokingly, "Now... if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."

Had it been anyone else who dared to say that line to her, Samantha would have immediately slapped them in the face, or at least would never have dignified with a response. But coming from Alistair, she didn't mind. Perhaps it was his endearing awkwardness that saved him, or perhaps she knew the man hiding behind the joke was more honorable and shy than anyone she'd met. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes and the flush from her face receded, as she turned the prank back at him, calling his bluff, "I thought you'd never ask. Go back to the castle and wait for me in your room. I want all your clothes off by the time I get there."

Alistair's eyes widened in utter shock and swallowed hard; his face burned bright red at her suggestion. It wasn't until he heard her soft giggle at his expense then he relaxed and laughed heartily. "Bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me!"

"Of course I did." She gently pinched the side of his face, still amused by his reaction. "You are so cute when you're bashful."

"Cute? Cute? Just what I was aiming for. Ow, you could just... stab me in the face first before you say something like that." He winced dramatically and put his hand over hers.

He had feigned injury before during their countless banters, and she had always refused to smooth his ego. But this time, she tiptoed and planted a soft peck on his cheek. "...Better now?" she asked, lingering there for a second. Her impulse took him by surprise as much as it shocked herself. She retracted her hand hastily and stepped back. "We should go back."

She turned to leave, but he stopped her. "Sammy, wait. There's something I want to ask you," he began firmly but hesitated when he had her full attention.

"What is it?"

"I don't know how to say this, so I'll just ask you." He took a deep breath. "All this time we've spent together... you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... will you miss it once it's over?"

Blue eyes searched his face, sensing there was a deeper meaning to this seemingly out of place question. Vulnerability began to slip through his hazel ones. "Miss the constant battles? Or miss you?" she asked knowingly.

He chuckled in defeat. "Is it that easy to see right through me? I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He took another deep breath before he continued, "I know it... might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to... care for you. A great deal."

Samantha dared not to move a muscle or even breathe, lest she might wake up from this dream. Butterflies returned and flustered even more furiously than before.

"I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He shrugged with a feeble attempt to justify his feelings, unknowingly echoed the very same thought that had been in and out of her mind for quite some time. He looked at her gingerly, as if bracing for an impact that could either crash his heart or send it soaring. "Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way about me?"

It took all her self-control not to throw her arms around him at that moment. Chuckling to herself, she shook her head in amusement. "Do you not know?" she asked softly with a tender smile. There was still a hint of self-doubt lingering in his eyes; he needed reassurance. "I've felt the same way about you for a while now."

He let out a breath he was holding. His face lit up into the brightest grin she had ever seen on him. "So I fooled you, did I? Good to know," he jested as he reached out to hold her face with one hand. Taking one step to close the distance between them, he swooped down and kissed her gently. The once ginger kiss turned more passionate as seconds passed. Time stopped for both of them; it could be mere seconds or perhaps minutes afterward before they broke off to catch their breaths.

Still unwilling to be physically apart, he rested his forehead against hers and blinked a few times to clear his head. "That... that wasn't too soon, was it?"

She did not mind the closeness, not one bit. If she was honest enough, she would admit she was fighting the urge to pull him down for another kiss. "No, not really. I liked it."

"Good. I'll take that as a good sign." He grinned happily, then leaned back just enough to look at her. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man."

She gave into her urge and pulled him down to capture his lips with hers. Pleasantly surprised, he returned the gesture eagerly. The Blight was still looming over them, but amidst the darkness and despair, something beautiful found its way to blossom into full-bloom. For the two Wardens, at least at this very moment, life was beautiful.


	20. Ghosts of the Past

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: This marks the beginning of the part three. As promised, light and fluff was the theme of part two. Now that their relationship has been established, we'll move onto the next stage. We are half way through the story, and honestly, right now I am debating on the ending. As I've said before, Cousland has evolved into a slightly different character than what I anticipated when I first wrote the ultimate decision chapter, which - if you know which decision I'm talking about – will change the ending one way or another. I might do something I've never done before, we'll see.

* * *

Part III

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Ghosts of the Past

* * *

"Watch out!"

Samantha couldn't tell who just yelled out, for the next thing she knew was a hard hit on the back of her head, and she fell face down on the ground. Faintly, she heard someone calling for Wynne as the sound of battle still raging around her. She struggled to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred, but she recognized the Antivan leather boots dancing furiously in front of her face, their owner guarding her motionless form. Just then, a soothing sense of warmth began to spread throughout her body, reawakened her nerves and her muscles. It was Wynne's handiwork, her most powerful healing spell, Samantha recognized. Her muscles had a new lease of life and once again flexed under her command. Tightening the grips on her weapons, Samantha rolled on her back and bounced back on her feet.

"Just in time! Want to dance?" Zevran asked as he blocked the cultist's axe with his twin blades. "Warden, cultist. Cultist, Warden."

With her head still dizzy from the hit, Samantha blindly thrust her sword at the cultist's torso, forcing him to leap back from Zevran momentarily. It bought her enough time to regain her bearing and regroup with Zevran. By the time the cultist charged again, his one axe was met with four blades. When he came at one, the other would quickly spin away to attack his blindside. Soon, the muscle-packed cultist dropped to the ground. Samantha spun around just in time to see Alistair and Sten finished off the cultist leader. Wynne's mass healing spell rained down on all of them, taking away the pain from the bruises and cuts she'd accumulated in her latest battle. Unfortunately, the spell couldn't wash away the sweat and the blood. Samantha wiped her face with the back of her hand and sheathed her weapons. With the cultists gone, there should be nothing standing between them and the Sacred Ashes, right?

If only life was that simple.

* * *

Exiting the caverns felt more liberating that she had expected, even though what greeted them was nothing but cutting cold wind and snowy hill. Samantha swore she would go crazy if she had to stay inside for much longer. Perhaps fatigue had gotten to her, or perhaps she'd simply been on this wild goose chase for far too long, Samantha wished nothing more than to snatch the urn and run back to Redcliffe for a hot bath and a goodnight sleep. She could almost feel her body submerging into a tub of hot water, and her head sinking onto a soft pillow afterwards.

Her fantasy was interrupted by an alarmingly loud and horrible roar. Alistair immediately pushed her onto a nearby stone wall as he pressed his back against it as well, one arm extended across her torso to keep her from moving. The roaring noise came closer and closer until it was above them. Samantha glanced up. For the first time in her life, she saw a dragon. Sheer horror sent chill down her spine. Samantha froze, terrified, as her eyes followed the form of the dragon flying across the sky above them before eventually settling itself onto a cliff on the higher part of the mountain.

So this was how a real dragon looked and sounded like, and she had to kill one to end the Blight? The archdemon was no ordinary dragon, either. How in the Maker's name was she supposed to kill it? _Maker save us all... _

"Sammy?" Alistair glanced down at her. "Are you all right?"

"That... dragon." Samantha shook her head to collect her thought. "We have to kill a dragon like that one to end the Blight?"

He nodded. "The archdemon is a dragon, but I don't know how big it is."

"But... how? How do we kill a dragon? Look at its size!"

"I don't know..." He shrugged helplessly. "Chop off its head? That's the only way I can think of."

Samantha took a deep breath to collect herself. Icy cold air entered her lungs and cooled her head. She had to have faith, if not, the battle would be lost before it even began. She sighed in exhaustion and rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be scared."

He slipped his arms around her to pull her closer. "You should be. I know I'm scared. Dragons are no joke. They could stomp you to death with just one step. But they are just giant lizard, aren't they? They can be killed. It's been done before. Four times, in fact. Just so you know, in case you've slept through your history lessons."

She let out a snicker despite herself and looked up at him. "Fifth time is a charm."

"It sure is." He grinned slightly. "Come on, let's sneak through that giant lizard and be on our way. I don't know about you, but I sure don't feel like practicing my dragon slaying skill today."

* * *

When the Guardian of the Ashes informed her there would be tests of faith to tell the true pilgrims from the false, never once would she have imagined one of the tests could nearly cripple her. Answering a series of riddles was easy with the help of Leliana, who enjoyed the first test a little bit too much. Now, with all the riddles correctly answered, the pair of heavy wooden doors at the end of the room swung open. What lied beyond was shrouded in darkness, Samantha saw no other option but to venture forth.

The doors slammed shut behind her as soon as she cleared the threshold. Startled by the loud slam of the doors and sudden darkness, Samantha whipped around. "Alistair? Zevran?" she called out, but no one answered.

All her companions seemed missing, Samantha's muscles tightened in alert. Whatever this test was, she was on her own. Just then, an unknown source of soft light illuminated the room, revealing a man standing in front of her. She instinctively reached for her weapons, but immediately dropped her hands from the hilts when she saw his face. No more than a few steps from her, with his face as calm and loving as she would always remember him to be, was none other the Teyrn Bryce Cousland.

"Father?" Her heart seemed to stop for a second, then raced in astonishment at the sight of her late father. She blinked hard, mistrusting her own eyes, but the teyrn still remained, as real as it could be. "...How?"

"Hello, Sammy." Bryce's smile was warm, just as she remembered.

She rushed forward to hug him without thinking, but her feet were glued to the ground. She tried desperately to reach out for her father, only to find that he was inches too far from her grasp. It was her recurring nightmare coming true: her parents standing right in front of her just out of her reach, smiling at her, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never reach them. "Father!"

The teyrn did not move an inch towards his daughter. "You know that I am gone, and all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back. "

_Please, please don't say that... _Her throat tightened too much for her to make any sound. Samantha could only shake her head wildly in childish denial, sending her long ponytail whipping with each movement.

"Sammy... I know you miss me, but my death, and my life, no longer have a hold on you."

Samantha shook her head even harder. Her eyes could no longer hold the tears that had been building up. Large droplets traveled down to her cheeks and dripped down from her chin. She had to say something; she had to tell her father how much she had truly missed him, how much the pain of losing everyone had hurt her. If he knew, he would come back to her to right the wrong, he would soothe away her pain as he always did whether she was a little girl with skinned knees or a young woman with bruised ego. Yet the words she intended to say vaporized through her lips, all she could muster was no more than a whimper, "... Papa... no..."

The teyrn's blue eyes shone lovingly on her. "No more must you grieve, my dear Sammy. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let go. It is time."

"No! No, no. Papa, please, don't go! Don't leave me!" she begged, horrified by the implication of an end to this brief reunion.

"You have such a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared. Farewell, Sammy."

"No! Don't go!" she yelled and desperately tried to reach for her father. If she could just hold onto him, perhaps she could stop her father from leaving her. Yet, the teyrn had began to fade away before her very eyes. "Don't leave me, papa! Please! Please, don't leave me alone again... please... don't go..."

The light source faded away with the teyrn, leaving Samantha once again alone in the dark. Old scar had been torn open, and it hurt even more than ever. All the pain she had bottled up exploded inside of her all at once. She sank to her knees and collapsed on the ground, the once poised Lady Cousland let go of all her dignity and wailed like a lost child, sobbing and begging at the empty spot where her father had been seconds ago. Tears rained down, dripping from her chin onto her lap. Feebly, she continued to beg through sobs and chokes, "Come back, please... please, papa..." If her father heard her, he did not answer.

Unknown source of light slowly brightened and lit up the once dark room, waking her up from the nightmare she was in. Samantha found herself sitting on the ground, her throat tight, her eyes burned, her face wet, her body trembled. Her pride regained control and commanded her to bite back a sob. She looked up at the spot the teyrn had stood in to find it still very empty. Whether it was a dream or not, she couldn't tell. But she knew her pain was real, too real for it to be just a dream.

A gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder, further grounding her back to reality. Samantha hastily wiped her face before looking up to find Leliana smiling sympathetically at her. She summoned whatever strength she had left to push herself off the ground. Glancing over at her other companions, she found them dazed from their own encounters as well, perhaps except for Morrigan and Sten.

"Finally," Morrigan sneered and moved onto the next part of the Gauntlet. The rest followed, except Alistair.

Leaning weakly against the stone wall with his head hung down, Alistair was lost in his revery, still haunted by the visit of a ghost from his past. She touched his arm gently, waking him up just as Leliana had woken her a moment ago. His eyes looked up and landed on her face, but they were unfocused.

"Time to go."

He blinked several times and took a deep breath.

"Duncan," she stated knowingly.

He nodded and pushed himself away from the wall with a sigh.

"Tell me all about it later."

He nodded again, then took a good look at her and reached out to wipe off a tear that had escaped from her eyes. "Your parents?"

"My father." She pulled him in for a sudden hug, giving and seeking comfort they both desperately needed. "We're almost there. Let's go and get the ashes."

* * *

After passing the next two tests to show their physical and mental prowess, Samantha threaded wearily behind her companions as they moved onwards. The battles with the dragon worshiping cultists had left her physically exhausted; the encounter with the ghost of her father had left her mentally drained. Putting one foot in front of another, Samantha dragged herself through the dark and narrow passage, but paused at the entrance of the next room when Alistair broke the silence, "By the Maker, it's... it's the Urn of Sacred Ashes! That's it! That's really it!"

"Mother of Mercy! It's... it's real!" Zevran echoed his sentiment.

At the far end of this great hall was a beautiful statue of the Maker's bride, and underneath the statue sat an golden urn. So the sacred urn truly existed, and in it contained the ashes they had been seeking for more than a month. Samantha would have collapsed in sheer relief had it not for the one last obstacle standing right in front of her. What separated them from the urn was not something they could simply fight or outsmart, for what greeted them in this final test was a thick wall of fire.

"How are we going to get across that?" asked Alistair.

Samantha extended one hand towards the wall of fire and felt the heat from the flame. It was no illusion.

Leliana examined a nearby pedestal and read, "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight."

Zevran peeked over her shoulder curiously, then chuckled as he confirmed the craved words. "I can truly say I like Andraste more already. Let's all strip now, shall we?"

"S-strip? What?" Alistair's face turned into a deep of pink.

Zevran shrugged casually at the other blond man. "It's what Andraste wants. It says here on the tablet." He tilted his head at the pedestal's direction with a well-composed straight face, but his amber eyes twinkled a little too much. "Are you a true pilgrim or not?"

"But-" Alistair protested.

"This is a fool's errand," Sten declared and walked out of the room in disgust.

"Finally, someone who makes sense. I agree." Morrigan followed promptly.

"Well, my dear Warden?" Zevran turned to Samantha with his full lips curled up in amusement. "What say you?"

Her father's appearance had reminded her of her duty as Cousland. She needed Arl Eamon, not just to fight the Blight, but to lend her troops to reclaim Highever. If walking through fire naked was what it needed to be done to bring her closer to her goal, so be it. Modesty be damned.

"I'll go," she declared, then promptly moved to the nearest wall and turned her back to the group. She unbuckled the belts that held her weapons without another word and laid her blades down on the floor, ignoring any reactions from her companions behind her.

"I'll go with her," said Leliana as the sound of her bow hit the ground.

"So will I," said Wynne.

Keeping her mind solely focus on the urn, Samantha began to strip off her armor methodically. Her gloves came off first, then her boots.

"You are not going, Zevran," said Alistair.

"What? Who are you to stop me from paying respect to Andraste?" challenged the blond elf.

"We both know you are not going there to pay respect to Andraste. I'll stay with you outside this room to keep an eye on you."

"Really, now. Is that necessary? Don't you want to go gaze upon the Sacred Ashes?"

"If that's the only thing you are going to gaze upon, but you can't fool me."

"Truly? That's too bad, is it?" Zevran laughed but exited the room without further protest.

Her leather armor dropped to the ground with a thud.

"Ah... I'll be outside, Sammy," said Alistair as he moved to exit.

"Alistair, wait." She turned from the wall and approached him in nothing but her undergarments. "Are you sure you don't want to come along? You have studied about Andraste more than anyone here."

His face turned bright red as his eyes struggled to settle on anything above her neck but failed miserably. "I... er..."

"I promise I won't look at you and I'll keep my eyes on the ceiling, how about that?"

His eyes momentarily traveled up to meet hers with an embarrassed grin. "It's not you whom I don't trust here. It's... er me. Unless there's an emergency magical trap door somewhere that would send me directly out in the snow, I really shouldn't be near you when you are not wearing... anything." Hazel eyes gave in and once again traveled down below her neck. "I'll... I'll be over there, ahem, just to be safe."

"As you wish. Just so you know, _I _trust you." She removed both necklaces and handed them to him. It was the first time she parted with her memento since that night at Highever. "Please keep this safe for me. The locket was my mother's."

He held them safely in his hand and awkwardly retreated, taking extra care not to accidentally glance at the other two women on his way out. Samantha proceeded to remove the rest of her clothing before joining Leliana and Wynne by the fire wall. Samantha reached out to test the fire, somehow it still felt very hot. "Strange..."

"Oh, you forgot about this," sad Leliana as she untied the silk ribbon that held onto Samantha's ponytail.

Her hair fell over her shoulders as she retrieved the ribbon – it was a gift from Leliana. Putting it aside with the rest of her clothing, Samantha reached for the fire one more time. This time, burning heat was replaced by soothing cool air. "I think we can pass now."

Leliana nodded after confirming it herself. "Come, I can't wait."

The three women took a leap of faith and walked into the fire with not a single possession on their body. It was as if they were walking into nothing but an illusion of fire. Amber flame still dancing around them, but the heat was gone. As soon as they had passed the final test, the voice of the Guardian rang behind them, "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. Approach the Sacred Ashes."

The Guardian then disappeared along with the wall of fire.

"I think we can get dressed now," said Samantha.

"I think so, too. It's quite chilly here," Leliana agreed.

They redressed before approaching the alter. "I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes... I... I have no words to express-" The bard shook her head in awe.

"I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here. I will never forget this feeling," said Wynne.

Samantha was never particularly religious, but she said a silent prayer to the Maker and His Bride, praying for the recovery of the arl and the success in ending the Blight. With utmost respect, she took a pinch of the Sacred Ashes and put it in a leather pouch, then carefully seal the pouch and put it in her pocket.

The three companions shared a look and leaved the alter in silence. It would be an experience none would ever forget.

* * *

The campfire provided some much needed comfort after the long quest for Sacred Ashes on top of the snowy mountain. The weather at the foot of the mountain was still chilly, but at least it's not snowing anymore.

With her gloves removed, Samantha warmed her hands over the fire, still somewhat haunted by the image of her father she'd seen in the Gauntlet.

"So, what did your father tell you?" asked Alistair as he polished the Cousland family blade.

"He wanted me to let go, to stop grieving for him."

"That's what Duncan told me as well." His hands were still systematically working on the blade, but his eyes were lost in his own memory.

"Do you think we can ever let go? Truly let go?"

"I don't know..."

"Neither Duncan nor my father would want to see us grieve for them forever. They loved us. They would want us to live our lives to the fullest, wouldn't they?"

The Cousland sword shone eerily by the fire. It was a blade given by his ancestor to hers, and somehow, many years later, it ended up in both of their hands. He sheathed it and put it aside. "I suppose."

She became thoughtful and quiet for a moment before settling herself close to him, for warmth, or comfort, or both. "Promise me one thing."

He gave her a small smile. "Anything."

"Promise me if I died before you, you would also let go and live your life to its fullest."

His smile turned into a frown. "Please don't say that."

"You and I both know what kind of danger we face everyday. This month was crazy cultists. What's next? And then there are darkspawn."

"We will fight them off together, like we always do."

"Of course we will. But the danger is always there, isn't it? Let's not forget about that giant lizard thing called archdemon."

"You're starting to sound like me, Sammy."

"Look what you've done to me." She forced a smile and tapped the tip of his nose playfully to soften the blow of the topic. "I just want to know, should the worst happen, you would be all right."

He shook his head in protest with his scowl grew harsher. "No, of course I wouldn't be all right. I love you," he blurted out.

She stared straight at him, surprised by his sudden confession.

"I- No, I don't want to think about it-" He was cut off when she leaned forth and quieted him with a kiss.

There wasn't any audience around them; in truth, neither of them cared. The night was cold, so were his lips and the tip of his nose, but it didn't take long for them to warm each other up nicely. There was not a hint of shyness in their touch any longer. His hands buried inside her hair, holding her close. Neither knew how long their kiss lasted before he abruptly pulled back. "We should... stop."

She opened her eyes, dazed, but smiled at him. "I love you, too."

"That's good to know." He grinned happily as he unbuckled his cloak and let it fall on the ground behind him. Their previous discussion was long gone from his mind.

"Aren't you cold?"

"Trust me, I _need_ the cold air right about now. It beats jumping into the freezing river."

Confused, she reached out to feel his forehead. "Are you quite all right?"

He looked amused. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn't kiss you here where everyone could see us-"

"No, that's not it. Come here," he beckoned, then put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He fished her necklaces out of his pocket and handed them back to her. "So, any stories behind those?" he asked casually.

She dangled the ruby pendant in front of her. "This has been with me since I was born. The locket and the ring were given to me just before I... left with Duncan. The ring was my father's. The locket was my mother's, and she was supposed to give it to me on the eve of my wedding day."

"I- I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's all right. The ghost – or whatever it truly was – was right. No matter what we do, we cannot bring them back. We have to learn to let go."

He fell into silence momentarily.

"You know, my family would love you," she said thoughtfully.

"You think so?"

She nodded as she played with her mother's locket absently. "You are loyal and honorable; my father would definitely love you. You are humorous enough to win over my brother and my nephew. As for my mother, well, you are a prince, she'd agree with this match."

"And if I wasn't a prince?"

"Hm... Finally there is someone in Ferelden that I'm not rejecting, she would thank you for getting me off her hands. Besides, you love me, that's all she'd need from you."

Satisfied, he kissed to top of her head and held her even closer. Both enjoyed a much deserved respite before their journey continued.


	21. Stand By Me

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: So far, mostly we've seen Samantha when she's around Alistair, when she allows herself to be stripped down to the core of who she really is – a sheltered but fiercely protective and loving young woman with a slightly mischievous side. In part three, from now on, you'll start to see a different side of her a bit more often when things start to hit the fan.

Before anyone gets on my case, if Arl = Earl in England, both Alistair and Samantha use the correct forms of address when they talk to Eamon (at least according to wikipedia). Samantha is more formal because she's a Cousland, she's been trained since birth. Also, for all the Anora fans out there, that tiny comment where Alistair compares Anora to Samantha is just his opinion. Whether it's because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or love is blind, or he wants to get on Cousland's good side (or get in Cousland's pants), whichever the reason, take your pick. Last but not least, if you've played through Alistair romance, you might recognize a few of his lines in here are taken from another famous scene. Does that mean I'm not doing that scene, just like I skipped the famous "have you ever licked a lamppost in winter" bit because it didn't fit into the characterization? Maybe. But don't freak out and hate me yet. Find out more next time.

I've to say I'm completely floored by your kind words, to say the least, and very very glad that tiny things like changing in relationship dynamics in every chapter is being picked up by at least one of you! I love subtly and dropping tiny hints here and there, but sometimes it tends to fly over people's head. It makes me positively giddy to know some hints are being picked up. Age wise, according to David Gaider, Alistair is around 20-21 when the game starts. So he's that age in this story. Samantha is 19 when the story begins. As for sequel... I can't say. I really can't. Sorry! :(

* * *

Chapter Twenty One: Stand By Me

* * *

The miracle of the Sacred Ashes was something Samantha would never have truly believed in had she not seen it in person. A priest chanted as he sprinkled a pinch of the ashes over Arl Eamon's body. It felt more morbid than magical to Samantha, especially when it was her who had acquired the ashes from the Sacred Urn. It was not just random dust; it truly was some burned up remains of a human body. Samantha diverted her attention from that rather disturbing idea to quickly glance over at the arlessa. The normally fiery Orlesian lady now hung her head low, humbly and feverishly praying underneath her breath for a miracle to be granted upon her unconscious husband. Samantha couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards her. If Alistair were to fall ill, to what length she would go to find a cure for him? Deep down, she knew the answer: there was nothing she wouldn't do to save him. To feel so strongly about another person, that their well-being mattered more than anything, it was something Samantha could never understand until now. That intensive feeling that had scared her to no end just a few weeks ago during their visit to Goldanna's bothered her no longer. Instead, it felt right to her, as if it was embedded in her instinct to protect him and to love him. Samantha was almost certain Isolde felt the same way for her husband. Looking back at the priest and his ritual, the use of ashes and prayers didn't seem as morbid and desperate all of a sudden.

Alistair was quiet but restless. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, anxiously clutching his fists tight during the ceremony. Samantha took a step closer to stand by him and reached for his hand, offering her silent support as they waiting for the miracle to happen.

And it did.

At long last, the arl stirred and struggled to open his eyes as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare. The arlessa and Bann Teagan rushed to the arl's bedside, but Alistair remained still, watching like an outsider he had always been. A slow grin appeared on his face as he released a deep sigh of relief, his tensed shoulders slumped as though unseen heavy weight had been lifted off. With a knowing smile, Samantha gently nudged him towards the arl, encouraging him to join the bedside reunion. Instead of taking her advice, he pulled her in for a hug.

"Thank the Maker! Thank _you_!" he whispered as he dipped her head down to rest on her shoulder, tightening his arms around her.

"Give yourself some credits. We did it together," she reminded him with a soothing pat on the back of his head.

He released his grip on her when they heard the arl spoke.

"Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?"

"I am here, my husband."

"And Connor? Where is my boy? Where is our son?"

"He lives, though many others are dead," said Isolde with her voice full of regrets.

"Dead? Then... it was not a dream?"

"I'm afraid not," said Teagan. "Connor lives thanks to Alistair and Lady Cousland."

"Alistair?" Eamon struggled to look over his wife's shoulder.

Samantha put a hand on Alistair's back and push him forward.

"My lord," Alistair greeted awkwardly.

"Alistair! It's you!" The arl looked him over a few times as if in disbelief that the once skinny little boy had grown into this tall young man. "And you said... Cousland, Teagan?"

"Samantha Cousland, your Lordship. Greetings." Samantha dipped into a proper curtesy as she joined Alistair's side.

"Samantha? Bryce's daughter? Why are you here?" the arl fired up a series of questions.

"Much has happened since you fell ill, Brother," informed Teagan. "Some of it will not be... easy for you to hear."

"Then tell me. I wish to hear all of it."

* * *

The fireplace in the great hall of Redcliffe castle crackled, providing much needed warmth for the four occupants in the room. Although still frail from his recent illness, Eamon insisted on hearing the bad news all at once. Teagan had no choice but to oblige, leaving no details behind.

"This is most troubling." The arl frowned gravely. "There is much to be done, that's true. But I should first be thankful to those who have done so much. Lady Samantha, first of all, my most sincere condolences. Teyrn Bryce and I had known each other for many years. He was an honorable man."

"Thank you, your Lordship. And please just call me Samantha."

"I see you have taken after your father. You have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt."

"I most certainly did not do it on my own. Alistair and my companions have been with me every step of the way."

"But it was your decision that has saved both Isolde and Connor," Teagan reminded her with a kind smile.

"It was 'our' decision, my lord," she corrected the bann with a glance at Alistair. She did bend the truth a bit; it was indeed her decision, yet the arl didn't have to know. Her message to Eamon was clear: Alistair had help him just as much as she did, and she would not let the bastard prince be ignored once again under this roof.

"I owe both of you a debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?" asked the arl earnestly.

"Then allow me to be blunt, your Lordship, if I may." Samantha looked straight into Eamon's eyes, her face determined. "King Cailan had promised to send troops to Highever and bring Arl Howe to justice. With the king gone, I'll need to look for troops elsewhere to reclaim what rightfully belongs to the Couslands."

Eamon raised an eyebrow slightly at her bold request. "You wish to have me sent soldiers up to Highever as your reward?"

Samantha did not flinch under the arl's intense gaze. Instead, her back remained as straight as ever, her eyes met his, unwavering. "I know it is too much to ask right now, as we would also need your help to fight against the Blight. I only ask for you to honor King Cailan's promise after the Blight is settled. Fighting multiple wars simultaneously is insensible."

Samantha held her breath but kept her poise as she waited. After what seemed eternal to her, Eamon finally nodded in agreement. "Justice must be served, I agree. Teyrn Bryce was a good friend, it'd be my honor to help." Eamon's face softened as he regarded the youngest child of his late friend. "You are indeed your father's daughter."

A genuine smile of relief spread on her face and lit it up brightly. "Thank you, your Lordship."

"And you, Alistair? Will you allow me to offer you a reward?" asked Eamon as he looked proudly at his former charge.

"Er, me? I am just glad you are all right, my lord. There's no need for a reward or anything. But if you'd help Samantha, I'd really appreciate it."

Samantha pressed her lips tight to stiff a smile at his earnest and endearing request.

"Then at least allow me to declare you and those traveling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls."

Samantha tossed a glance at Alistair. She could not have been the only one who saw the irony of this situation.

"And for you, Alistair, a shield of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knight."

"T-thank you." Alistair was both surprised and pleased. It was as if he had finally given the recognition from the home that had abandoned him.

"We should speak of Loghain, Brother," said Bann Teagan. "There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery."

"Loghain instigated a civil war even though the darkspawns are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power."

"I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon." Teagan shook his head in disgust. "He is mad with ambition, I tell you."

"Mad indeed," the arl agreed. "Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarcely afford to fight this war to its bitter end."

"But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?" asked Alistair hopefully.

"I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies."

Samantha silently agreed with the arl. She had seen enough throughout all the years in Highever and Denerim to learn one thing about nobility: nobles were all out for themselves. If Loghain was the clear winner, many of them would fall under his banner even if they weren't particularly friendly with him to start with. Samantha glanced over to Eamon and recognized the look on the arl's face – it's the similar look her father used to have when he had a plan on his mind. "What are you proposing, then?" she asked.

"We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn. I will spread word of Loghain's treachery, both here and against the king. But it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen."

_Alistair..._ Samantha shot a look at Alistair, who was either in serious denial or selectively missed what Eamon had just said.

"Are you referring to Alistair, Brother? Are you certain?" asked Teagan.

She checked on the bastard prince again, this time his face turned pale. He could no longer ignore the discussion when his name had been announced loud and clear. Samantha took a step closer to him and discreetly held onto his hand to offer her support.

"I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."

She felt him squeezing her hand painfully tight. Stiffing a wince, Samantha decided to lend her support to the arl. "I think Alistair would make a fine king."

"Sammy!" He scowled harshly at her and shook off her hand as though it were hot coal.

"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood."

"And what about me?" Alistair protested with a sneer. "Does anyone care what I want?"

"Alistair!" she hissed with a sharp jab of her elbow at his ribs to shut him up, yet it didn't get his attention as much as she'd like due to his thick armor. Fortunately her sharp glare completed the job. Resentment remained on his face, but at least he had not gone on with his rant.

"You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?" The arl's voice was gentle, but his tone was firm. Strangely, he reminded Samantha of her father.

"I..." He looked at the arl, then Samantha. Her glare had softened back to her supportive gaze and locked onto his momentarily. "But I... no, my lord," he conceded with a heavy sigh.

"I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another."

Alistair looked even more pale at that idea. Samantha briefly worried he would get sick right then and there.

"Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, Samantha? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing."

Samantha blinked in surprise. "My blessing? Why do you need my blessing?"

"None of this would be possible without you. You led Alistair here, you saved my family and my life with the Urn of Sacred Ashes... It's your lead I follow," the arl claimed humbly.

"I am truly honored, your Lordship. But you are the arl of Redcliffe, the uncle of the late king, and I am... nobody."

"You are a Grey Warden and more importantly Teyrn Bryce's daughter. Your late father was beloved by many. I am credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you. Surely, you see that."

Less than a year ago, sitting at the comfort of her own castle, Samantha would never have dreamed of the responsibilities that had been continuously dumped onto her shoulders. First, it was to reclaim Highever. Then, it was to defeat the Blight. And now, she had to dethrone a queen and her father to end a potential civil war. It was her turn to look pale, her turn to feel sick. Now she understood the terrible burdens Alistair was drowning underneath as the chosen successor to Cailan's throne. And to think she wasn't even asked to be king.

She turned to Alistair for support and found him studying her. The resentment on his face had long gone, replaced by sympathy. His face said it all, as loud and clear as though he'd voiced it: welcome to the club. Once again, they were both tossed on the same boat, shouldering the same responsibilities, walking on a path none of them truly wanted to but both had to thread.

It was all she needed to remind herself she was not alone in this crisis. Whether it was chopping the head of an archdemon, or dethroning a reigning queen, she would have Alistair by her side. Always. "You have my unconditional support to face Loghain, your Lordship. But what of the darkspawn?"

"Ferelden must stand united to defeat the darkspawn. A fractured nation will not defeat the Blight, even given my army and those gathered with your treaties. You still have allies to seek out to help us against the darkspawn. I can hold off traveling to Denerim until you are ready, but the Landsmeet is our only option."

Samantha nodded understandingly. She shared a look with Alistair and the two came to a silent agreement. "We shall proceed with your plan, then."

"It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, I suggest you pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde."

"Surely the treaties can wait for a few days, my husband?" asked Lady Isolde as she appeared from a doorway. "Our friends must be tired from traveling all across Ferelden. Let them rest for a few days before sending them off again. At the very least, allow me to show my gratitude for saving my boy and my husband, Lady Samantha."

"That is most kind of you. But I did not do it alone." Samantha pointedly looked at Alistair to get to her point.

"Yes, of course. I have both you and Alistair to thank." The grateful smile on the arlessa's thin lips was genuine. "As my husband has said, both of you and your companions are always welcome in our home. You must stay and rest, I insist." She took both of Samantha's hands in hers earnestly. "Your rooms are readied. And dinner will be served in an hour. Now if you'd excuse me, I have to see to the preparation." Isolde gave her hands a pat before releasing them and retreated back to the dinning room.

"Well, you've heard my wife. She's a stubborn one." The arl shook his head rather affectionately. "I am glad we have a chance to spend a few days together before you take off again. Alistair, perhaps we can talk later tonight?"

Alistair seemed surprised by the request. "I- of course."

* * *

With Alistair following a step behind, Samantha threaded wearily to the guest room provided by the arlessa. The weight of her weapons suddenly became unbearable as both physical and mental fatigue kicked in. She began unbuckling the belts holding the sheaths before even entering the room and put her weapons on the top of the dresser as soon as she walked in.

Alistair closed the door behind him and followed her lead, unceremoniously dropping his sword and shield on the floor by the dresser. "Pinch me and tell me I'm not dreaming."

She shoot him a curious glance while taking off her gauntlets. "Why would you be dreaming?"

"Because it's my greatest fear coming true!"

"Calm down, Alistair."

"Calm down? You heard the arl. He wanted me to be king!"

"Yes, I was there. I heard him," Samantha confirmed patiently as she let her hair down and reached for the hairbrush on the dressing table. "But you've also heard him, if you don't take the throne, Loghain will. He has already made the claim for it."

"Anora has been queen for the past five years and things aren't that bad. I say dethrone Loghain and let Anora keep the crown."

She gave him a look through the reflection of the mirror as she brushed her hair. "Don't be so naïve. Have you forgotten about the bounties on our heads? Loghain has gone mad. He will seize the power and have us all killed even if Anora remains on the throne. Do you think she'd listen to her own father or the two of us? I know Anora. She's her father's daughter through and through. Nothing stands between her and her goal – at least that's what my mother used to say."

Alistair scowled at her reasoning. "But, Sammy... Have you seen me? Hello! I can't be king!"

Samantha let out a sigh of exasperation and put down the hairbrush, then turned and stepped right in front of him. Putting her hands on each side of his face, she pulled it down gently and forced him to look straight at her. "I've seen you, Alistair. Daily. For months now. And I daresay I have come to know you pretty well. You _can_ be a good king. What determines a good king is not if he has been formally trained in court. It's here." She released one hand to place it over his heart. "You have the compassion, the fairness, and the humility to be a good king. All these, you can't learn from any trainings. It's in you. As for governing, you will get the best tutors money can buy to teach you everything you'll need to know. You're a fast learner, my dear, you will be fine. Didn't you enjoy the education in the chantry? Learning how to rule is nowhere as boring as studying chantry history. Oh, believe me, I have studied both subjects."

His face softened with each of her words. He looked almost convinced as he wrapped his arms around her back. "... You make it sound so easy."

"No, it's not going to be easy. You have to study hard, and you might have to make some unpleasant decisions. But I'm certain you can do it. There is no doubt in my mind that you can be a fine king. I have faith in you. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you. I just don't trust myself."

"Well, I trust _you_. So that means you if trust me, you should trust yourself too." A loving smile lit up at him.

"You and your way with words... Why do I even bother arguing with you?" he complained with a smile then leaned forth for a tender kiss. "Perhaps we should put you on the throne instead. You are smarter than me, kinder than Loghain, prettier than Anora."

"You do know what you're suggesting is treason, right? We Couslands have sworn fealty. No, thank you. I'd be happy to claim back Highever. I made a promise to my father, and I intend to keep it."

Hazel eyes gazed tenderly at her then steeled with determination. "I will send troops up and claim it back for you as soon as I become king."

A proud smile curled up on her lips and broadened. "See? You sound like a king already. It's not so hard now, is it?"

That earned her another kiss. He broke off and stared at her for the longest time. "You know, every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode. I-I can't think straight."

"Should I... step back?" she jested, vaguely gestured somewhere behind her.

"No, of course not." He chuckled and tightened his arms around her back just to prevent her from slipping away. "We sort of... stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingered on her cheek a bit longer. "Here's the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you. Not ever."

She opened her mouth a few times, no words came out. It was one of the few times he rendered her speechless. Thankfully, he was patient enough to wait for her to compose her thoughts. "Neither can I... Being king doesn't mean things have to change between us, does it?"

"I don't know. I don't know the first thing about being king. But I know I'd like you to be there with me. If... if you're willing, and that you are not needed in Highever."

The reality of their post-Blight lives hit her like a stone wall. "The road between Denerim and Highever is not terribly far..."

"But we won't be able to see each other everyday, will we?"

She didn't want to lie, nor did she want to admit the truth. All she could do was to lower her gaze and avoid his eyes, just as she was avoiding the fact that what her heart wanted and what her duties called for might not always be the same thing.

"I can't to do this by myself, Sammy."

"You are not alone, Alistair." She glanced back at him, touching the side of his face. "I promise we'll see this through together."

"You mean the Blight. I'm talking about being king."

"You won't be alone on that either. You'll have advisers."

"But not you."

Her heart sank, but she forced a smile. "I will be there for you if you need me. Let's deal with the Blight first."

She was saved by the call for dinner. She led him out of the guest room with her hand hooked onto his arm, as she had done so many times long before either had confessed their feelings for each other. It was a simple gesture, one Samantha had somehow adapted to naturally without ever giving it a second thought, nor did Alistair ever complain about the physical closeness either. It was here, by his side, where she felt most comfortable. It simply felt right, standing by him, knowing that he would also stand by her no matter what. But where she truly belonged might not always be where she needed to be. Duties and obligations would always be attached to their names, just because one was a Cousland, the other was a Theirin.

"You should talk to the arl tonight," she gently reminded him. "We won't be here for more than a few days."

"Right. Still have to clear that up..."

"You'd feel better after talking to him."

"Let's hope so."

"Not everyone gets a second chance. Patch things up before you take the throne. He's likely to be your chancellor and you'd see him everyday."

A thought came to him and he lit up. "And if I wanted you to be my chancellor?"

She couldn't hold back an incredulous snort at that idea. "I don't think I am anywhere as qualified as the arl."

"Doesn't the king get to choose his own chancellor? Besides, even the arl said he'd follow _your_ lead."

"That's hardly fair, is it? Just because we want to see each other everyday, you'd pick me over Arl Eamon as chancellor? That's not kingly," she chided half-seriously.

"Picking the teyrna of Highever over the arl of Redcliffe? I don't see anything wrong with that." He shrugged and glanced at her with his overly innocent pup face, knowing full well he could disarm her with that look.

And he did. She let out a sigh in defeat. "Let's just take it one step at a time, shall we?"

"It's only fair, you know. Maric had Loghain, I have you."

She shook her head with a roll of her blue eyes. "Yes. I am yours, your Majesty."

For the first time since he'd arrived at Redcliffe castle, he laughed. "I think I like the sound of that."

"Getting comfortable with the idea of being king, aren't we?"

"Hardly." He flashed a teasing grin. "I meant the first part."

She wrinkled her nose at him and lightly swatted his arm. Whatever happened after the Blight, she would deal with it in due time. She knew, at least right now, she was happy.


	22. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: This chapter is derailed from the in-game canon. My goal is to make it flow more naturally than canon scene, to fit their current relationship better, also to make it something special and uniquely theirs. I have a lot to say for this particular chapter, but you're probably more interested in the story than my thoughts. So for better or worse, here it is.

Easter egg: there's a tiny Mass Effect 2 reference somewhere. Good hunting.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two: Crazy Little Thing Called Love

* * *

It felt good to take a proper bath in a tub filled with hot water instead of one from a river or a lake. It felt even better to put on a proper clean nightgown right after her bath instead of donning the same traveling shirt and pants. And it definitely felt like a blessing to know there's a comfortable bed waiting for her after she's all cleaned. If longing for a hot bath, a nightgown, and a bed with feathered pillow and soft blanket every night for the past months made her a spoiled brat, so be it. Samantha wasn't about to deny who she was; she was Teyrn Bryce Cousland's precious daughter who had been sheltered most of her life. To deny her past would be to deny her heritage. If anything, just like other Couslands, she was proud of to be one.

Samantha moved to the dressing table and was almost tripped by Alistair's shield he had so carelessly dropped by the dresser earlier that evening. She set the shield against the wall, out of the way, and made a note to herself to return the shield and the sword to their owner's room later. He was at the arl's study, spending much needed time with his estranged foster father – or care taker, at lease. Alistair didn't handle the news of inheriting the throne gracefully – not that she had expected him to, nor did she blame him for lack of tact. It was an enormously huge burden to dump on anyone, especially someone who had been raised specifically _not_ to take on said responsibility. Alistair had a good heart, of that she had no doubt; he always wanted to do the right things. Samantha knew what he needed was some time to think through, to digest the situation. Fortunate for him, he would have more than enough time to come to terms with his fate before Landsmeet, for they still had two more treaties to pursue.

But those could wait. For now, Samantha was grateful of the minor break they had in Redcliffe castle, even though it would last no more than a few days. A few days of hot baths, soft bed, and proper meals. Simple things as such had become a rare blessing nowadays amidst of all the constant traveling and fighting. Since embarking on this journey, Samantha had learned to be thankful for little things she had taken for granted for her entire life. Little things such as a clean nightgown after a hot bath, or the mirror on top of the dressing table she was sitting by right now, or even the hairbrush waiting for her on the tabletop.

She reached for the brush and started to untangle the knots on her damp hair. There wasn't always a mirror during their travel, at least not a big one. Leliana had a small hand mirror in her pack, and Samantha knew Zevran had one hidden somewhere too – that elf had spent more time on his hair than Leliana and herself combined. But none was as big as the one hanging on top of the dressing table in her guest room. Now that she finally had a chance to sit down and take a good long look into a big mirror, it was rather startling to find out that the image staring back at her was strangely unfamiliar. Even with all the dirt gone and her armor off, the young woman in the mirror wasn't whom she remembered herself to be. The face staring back at her wasn't the same as the one she used to see everyday back at Highever.

Her hair had grown longer, almost passed her breasts. Several scars now adorned the part of her arms and legs, as well as her torso where it had been pierced by darkspawn arrows at the top of Tower of Ishal. Her once rosy full cheeks were now pale and thinner, making her heart-shaped face more prominent than before. Dark circles plagued under her eyes daily from fatigue, refusing to ever go away. The teyrna would be appalled if she had seen her darling girl like this. Perhaps a full month of unconsciousness was what she needed to kick the lingering fatigue away, allowing her body to heal, her mind to rest. But the Blight awaited. Samantha knew she would not have her overdue rest until the Blight is over. _Then I could finally sleep forever and nothing could wake __me... _

Such fantasy was tempting yet fleeting. The realist in her knew even after the Blight was gone, there would still be a mountain full of matters to be settled. Before being overwhelmed by the not-so near future events, she wisely took the advice she had given to Alistair earlier and decided to take everything one step at a time. For now, her next step was beckoning her in the reflection of the mirror: a comfortable bed with soft pillows.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait until the Blight was over to get one goodnight sleep. At least for the next few nights, she could sleep just like the way she used to: in a safe room, on a comfortable bed, in a loose gown, after a nice hot bath. Samantha tossed the stranger in the mirror one last look before putting down the brush. She raised from the cushioned chair and stretched her weary muscles. Her neck and shoulders in particular had been bothering her tonight. She reached behind her neck to lightly massage away the tension. Perhaps she should seek out Zevran and asked him to give her a demonstration of the Antivan massage techniques he had been bragging about. That idea was too tempting to resist, and her aching muscles concurred. Samantha could only hope that self-proclaimed master of seduction had not gone to the local bar to hunt for his next victim by now.

A knock on the door had spoiled her plan as she reached for a robe. She opened the door, fully expecting it to be Leliana looking for company, while secretly hoping it was Zevran delivering his massage straight to her room. Yet, it turned out to be neither.

Standing at the door way was someone who could easily be as sweet as Leliana and occasionally be as flirtatious as Zevran. Right now, he was just himself with a goofy smile. Before he started to speak, Alistair took a sniff in the air. "Something smells nice..." He traced the scent and leaned down towards her neck. "Oh, it's you!" The scent had distracted him momentarily, it wasn't until he gave her a quick look-over then he realized she was in a white nightgown. "Er... You aren't sleeping yet, are you?"

Samantha couldn't stop a smile at his endearing awkwardness. "Unless I am sleep walking, no. Come in." She stepped aside to let him in before closing the door once more. "Here for your sword and shield? You left them by the dresser earlier."

"Yes, I know. But, no, that's not why I'm here." He shrugged indifferently without bothering to look at his weapon. "I came to see you."

"Well, here I am." He had this look on his face, she recognized it by now: there was something on his mind. Samantha decided to make herself comfortable and sat on the bed, allowing him take his time to voice his thoughts. But when he did nothing but pacing, she gently prompted, "I thought you were spending evening with Arl Eamon."

"I did." He unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck as he continued to pace around. "I talked to him about the amulet and things..."

The bed underneath her was too comfortable to ignore. She gave into her achy muscles' demand and unceremoniously flopped down onto the mattress. Her bare legs dangled at the edge of the bed. Her hair, still slightly damp, randomly fanned around her head on the bed cover. It was not exactly ladylike, but she didn't care. There was no one else there but Alistair. She let out a soft sigh of content. "Things, as in being king?"

He winced at that thought. "Well, yes, we talked about that too. But I meant things as in the past, what an ungrateful brat I was, you know..."

"You were young, my dear. Let bygones be bygones." Her back sang praise to the mattress, but her shoulders were still sore.

"That's exactly what he said." He chuckled a little. "Still, it was good to talk to him about it."

"Did he ask how you got your hands on the amulet?" Responding to her body's need, she extended her arms and arched her back to stretch out the knotted muscles.

"No, he didn't. Thank the Maker! I wasn't sure if I had to lie-" His jest was cut short when he finally stopped pacing and turned to look at her.

When he didn't continue, she popped herself up by her elbows and curiously glanced at him, only to find him staring at her with his jaws slightly slacked. "What's wrong?" She self-consciously sat up and adjusted the gown, wondering if perhaps she had been a bit too unladylike.

"...Nothing. I, er... I've lost my train of thought."

"Well, I'm glad you have found your closure." The mattress was calling her name. She was tempted to lay back down again, but he approached her with his hands extended. Quite reluctantly, she took them and let him pull her back onto her feet.

"I just wanted to thank you for finding the amulet. Again." One hand gently put against her cheek. "If it wasn't for you, I would never have known how much he cared. And I would never have had the closure I was craving for all these years."

His face descended slowly upon hers; his intention was clear. His eyes were too focused on the curves of her lips, he missed the mischievous glint in her eyes. Just when his lips were about to touch hers, she reminded him in a whisper, "It was Zevran who found it first."

Alistair threw his head back and groaned loudly in annoyance. "Do you _have_ to mention his name during this warm and fuzzy moment? Mood-spoiler!"

She laughed and held his face with both hands, savoring the result of her silly prank. "I'm sorry, my dear, but that look on your face was priceless!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Ha, ha. Funny. You'll pay for this. I swear."

A fine brow raised playfully. "A threat? I see. Quite unbecoming for a would-be king, don't you think? You should, oh I don't know, perhaps challenge me to a duel instead, 'your Majesty'. That would be more kingly."

"A duel, you say?" One corner of his lips twisted into a faint smirk. "You asked for it, my dear Lady Cousland. Don't cry when you lose." He quickly sidestepped her and grabbed a pillow on the bed, then, without warning, whipped around and smacked the soft pillow onto her head.

Samantha shrieked in surprise. Another rapid hit struck her side, but she managed to dodge the third attack. She slipped away from him and dived onto the bed, reaching for the other pillow and felt another smack landed squarely on her backside. She flipped over just in time to roll away from an oncoming pillow and wasted no time to launch her own counter-attack. While his taller form and longer arms gave him an advantage in this close quarters combat, she was able to hold her own ground. He might have the reach, but she had the flexibility.

He blocked her pillow with one arm and continued his attack with his other hand. "Concede!" he demanded with laughter.

"Never!" She raised her pillow high above her head and smacked it down onto his mercilessly, all while taking some hits on her torso. "You concede!"

Neither gave in. Both laughed harder than they had since long before they had met each other. For once, they allowed themselves to act their age – carefree and joyful. The duel went on for a long time until they were out of breath from laughing and screaming.

"Stop! Stop..." Samantha fell onto the bed lying on her back, breathless. "I'm not conceding... This is just a break."

Alistair flopped down beside her, face down buried on the thick quilt. "Nor am I." He then felt a light smack of the pillow hitting his backside. "Hey! Not fair! We are taking a break!" He raised his head to shoot her a mock glare, but he couldn't quite pull it off upon seeing the grin on her face.

She found his face once again descending upon hers, but this time, she didn't refuse him. Their lips met, slowly at first, then turned more passionately as they tasted each other, just like all those stolen moments they shared during their travel. It was a dance they both knew well by now, both took comfort in. But unlike their other private moments, he did not stop before he lost control of himself, nor did she want him to. Even though a tiny voice in the back of her head nagging her to stop, reminding her of a lesson that had been drilled into her head: she was not supposed to give herself to anyone other than her future husband. But how could she think about marriage when she didn't even know if she would die from the next battle, let alone surviving the Blight? His touch, his taste, his smell, they all felt right to her. _He_ felt perfectly right. Most importantly, she loved him. Wasn't that enough? With that one thought, the tiny voice was vanquished and forever silenced.

And so they continued. There was no abrupt break-off, no awkward cool-down. He shifted and pinned her underneath him. His weight made her feel oddly secure. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in even closer, encouraging him further. She felt his heart pounding fast inside his chest, without a doubt she knew he could also feel her own.

The kiss went on long enough, until he reluctantly broke it off. Not to end it, but to ask silently for the permission to venture forth with a longing gaze into her eyes. Her loving smile was all the encouragement he needed. He captured her lips once again with his, more passionately that he had ever done. His hand tentatively reached down to her gown and pulled it up ever so slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. But she didn't. Neither of them wanted to stop. Both longed for each other's touch. He broke off from her once more, barely long enough to peel her gown off and his shirt off himself, and then once again dived for her lips. His hands, now bolder, began to roam about as their remaining clothing started to shed piece by piece. As their lips continued their familiar dance, their bodies ventured forth to another dance unfamiliar to either of them, with nothing but natural instincts to guide them. Together, they crossed the point of no return.

* * *

The pillow and the mattress underneath her were soft, the quilt covering her was warm. Lying on her side, snuggling deep in the warmth of the blanket, Samantha briefly thought she was back at Highever, waking up in her own bed. But that thought was fleeting, for when she opened her eyes, the room that greeted her wasn't the familiar one she had seen for nineteen years of her life. The weight of an arm wrapped around her torso and the warmth of a body behind her bare back were certainly not something she was familiar with, but she decided she liked the way they felt. Samantha started to inch away very slowly, taking care not to wake the man sleeping next to her. But his arm tightened around her before she could slip away, pulling her closer to him. "Sleeping beauty is finally awake, I see. Did you sleep well?"

She felt a soft kiss landed on her shoulder. "As well as one could be," she mumbled sleepily, shifting to face him. "No nightmares if that's what you asked."

"Aw. I fended off those pesky nightmares, didn't I? It's nice to know I'm good at something." His teasing smile curled up. He leaned in for a kiss – a soft and sweet one, which she happily returned. But the tender moment was rudely interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Ignore it and it'll go away," he whispered then continued to taste her lips.

Alas, ignoring it only made the knock came a bit louder. He broke off the kiss and groaned in annoyance. She laughed softly at his display of displeasure and volunteered, "I'll go get the door."

"No, you stay warm in here. Don't move a muscle," he said as he reluctantly peeled himself away from her and got off the bed. He found his discarded pants and hastily put them on, all while stumbling across the room and reached for the door.

Samantha sank down into the pillow and savored the warmth of the cover, grateful for his chivalry in this chilly morning. Then she heard a melodic voice ringing from the doorway as soon as the door cracked open. "Hey, Sam- Oh... Alistair..." It was Leliana. Samantha immediately winced and smacked herself mentally for not remembering this was supposed to be _her_ room. _She_ should have answered the door.

"Er... Good morning, Leliana." Alistair cleared his throat. Samantha could just see the pink flush on his face in her mind's eye.

"Good morning, indeed." There was a giggle following Leliana's greeting. "Oh, don't mind me. I was going to ask Sam to join me for breakfast, but I can see she's... ahem, preoccupied." The sing-song tone in the bard's voice was most likely accompanied by her impish grin. Samantha buried her face into the pillow and sighed. "I'll see you two later, at lunch, perhaps? Or dinner? If you are not too busy..." Her giggles faded away as she left, and the door once again slammed shut.

Samantha felt the weight of Alistair's body settling into the mattress when he sat down on her side of the bed. She shifted onto her back and looked up to him with a faint smile and a helpless shrug. "She knows."

He reached out to push some strands of hair off her face. "You do realize the rest of our little party is going to talk, right? They do that," he informed her, not at all embarrassed, but rather amused by that idea.

"They have been talking about us for quite some time now."

"What makes you say that?" He frowned in confusion.

"Zevran asked me if we had... you know..."

"What? When did he ask you that?"

"When we arrived at Denerim."

"Why would he even ask you such a personal question? Never mind, he's Zevran. But what made him think we did?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because we do spend almost every waking hour together? But if he asked again, I'd feed him to darkspawn." Samantha narrowed her eyes to emphasize her mock threat.

Alistair laughed. "See? This is why I love you." He leaned down happily for a peck on her lips. One peck turned into two. Then three. Soon, he shifted back into the warmth of the cover and continued where he had left off before the rude interruption.

The tender moment didn't last for too long. This time, it was Samantha who interrupted. "We are going to miss breakfast _and_ lunch if we keep it up," she reminded him, knowing full well where their entanglement would eventually lead to.

"Don't worry. I grew up in the kitchen here. I know where to find food." Instead of leaning in once more, he studied her closely as he traced one finger along the side of her face. "Have I told you that I love you?" he asked in the lightest possible tone, almost as though he was joking. But Samantha knew better.

"You told me just now. In your own little way," she replied with a teasing smile.

"I did?" He feinted surprise.

"If that doesn't count, you blurted it out the night we got the Ashes. And I heard you said it last night just before you fell asleep."

"You heard that?" Now his surprise was real. "I thought you passed out."

"Almost."

"So, did you say anything back to me?" His tone was hopeful.

"You missed that part, didn't you?" The corners of her lips twisted up mischievously.

"Aw! I did! Well, it won't kill you to say it again, will it?" His pup face was summoned at will. It was her weakness, they both knew it, and he was getting good at exploiting it.

Still not wanting to show her defeat too easily, she put on a dramatic display of a roll of her blue eyes before looking into his hazel ones with a loving smile. "I love you, too."

Puppy face dissolved instantly into a sly teasing smile. "See? Was that so hard?" He chuckled victoriously, earning himself a playful smack on his chest. He ignored her attack and swooped in for a kiss once again. His hands reached for the soft curves hidden underneath warm blanket as he continued where they had left off. This time, without any interruption.


	23. Sine Qua Non

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: The chapter title means "without which not", or "without which (there is) nothing", an indispensable factor. What this is referring to, you'll find out soon enough. This chapter title is from an episode title of one of my absolute favorite tv shows, Battlestar Galactica. Strange fact: it wasn't until I scanned the episode titles of BSG that I realized there are two chapter titles in my story that are the same as their episode titles – "Revelations" and "Someone to Watch Over Me". Pure coincident, as I didn't check their episode names until just now. "Someone to Watch Over Me" was a direct reference to Ella Fitzgerald's song, of course. Many of the chapter titles are named after the songs that fit the chapter.

Thank you for taking your time to review the previous chapter. It makes me feel super warm and fuzzy. Posting that chapter was even more nerve-wracking and intimidating than posting the rose one. I was quite honestly expecting a backlash for making Alistair not as awkward as he is in-game. Or maybe those of you who hated it was kind enough to hold back your critiques. I had my reasons to make him a bit less awkward in front of her than his in-game canon self, it's because they're very comfortable with each other at that point already, and nothing breaks the ice like a good old fashion physical fight. His original "let's do sexy time before we get killed, y/n? I don't want to die a virgin, I want my first time to be with you" speech didn't fit their level of familiarity. It was unnecessary. Actions speak louder than words.

Anyway, enjoy. There should be one more chapter before I leave for the holidays. Let's hope I'd edit it in time for another update some time next week.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Three: Sine Qua Non

* * *

Samantha cried out in pain.

"Hold still," Wynne instructed patiently.

Sitting in her tent alone with Wynne, Samantha willed herself not to squirm away from potion soaked cloth as the mage tended to the wounds on her back, courtesy of some werewolf back at the Brecilian ruins. While the potion cleaned and healed the wounds, it stung like thousand needles when it contacted her skin. Battle rush in her veins as well as Wynne's healing spells had held her together barely long enough to finish their quest to help the Dalish tribe. Now that the curse had been lifted, the werewolves had reverted back to humans and elves once again, her wounds needed to be properly tended to.

"Sammy! Are you all right?" Alistair dived inside the tent upon hearing her scream and saw Samantha sitting on the ground with her back facing him, stripped down to her waist. Three deep cuts ran diagonally across her back, bright red blood contrasting her pale skin. "Maker..."

"I'm fin-" Samantha couldn't quite bite back another scream as the potion once again sipped into her opened flesh.

"It's no worse than the cut you had last time, Alistair," Wynne reminded the young man.

He winced in pain for her. "But..."

"But it hurts you more when the wounds are on her," Wynne completed his thought with a knowing smile.

"I was supposed to get hit. She jumped in the last second," Alistair protested.

"You are welcome," Samantha mumbled rather cuttingly. For better or worse, Alistair's sarcasm had definitely been rubbing off on her. She wondered if he had picked up some of her traits. The art of being tactful would be a nice one for him to picked up right about now. As much as Samantha loved him, she would love him even more if he would just leave, or at least shut up if he insisted on staying. Now was definitely not a good time to start any arguments.

"What were you thinking, Sam? You could get yourself killed!"

"I didn't have time to think!" The pain on her back caused her temper to flare.

"Don't ever do that again." There was a serious and firm tone in his voice, leaving no room for negotiation. Ever since Arl Eamon had convinced him to take the throne, once in a while there was a subtle change in his tone as if he was more certain of himself, Samantha noticed and took comfort in that. Her mabari pup was definitely growing up. Although, right now, she was not exactly pleased to be at the receiving end of this particular tone. Especially when it was about a promise she could never keep.

She whipped around and glared at him, ignoring the pain caused by her sudden movements. "So I should just stand by and watch the werewolf claw at your back or Maker knows what else it would do to you? Even if I had time to think, I would do it all over again to protect you!"

Alistair scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but his eyes involuntarily traveled down from her face to her neck, then widened as they continued further down. For a moment, he froze, mesmerized. Samantha's brows knotted tighter, confused. It took her a second to remember her state of undress and realized what he was staring at. Instinct told her to cover herself up for modesty, but it would not matter much. After all, he had seen her in even less many times for the past few weeks, he knew too well what the rest of her looked like. Before Samantha could do anything to snap Alistair back to reality, a cough from Wynne that broke the spell on him, reminding him they were not alone in the tent. His face flushed deep pink as he cleared his throat, visibly flustered. "I- er, I'll be... outside. Take care of her, Wynne," he mumbled before exiting the tent.

"He could be so incredibly frustrating." Samantha let out a weary sigh.

Wynne began to bandage the young woman. "Do you love him?"

"What? I-" Samantha was thrown off guard by the sudden question. She took a second to regain composure and told the truth, "Yes, I do."

"Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt."

There was something in her last sentence that Samantha didn't quite like. It was almost a quiet warning. "Are you saying I might hurt Alistair?"

"Not intentionally, no. It's hard not to notice you genuinely care for each other. But there is a great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you."

Samantha felt a twist in her gut but remained silent.

"You are both Grey Wardens. He is the son of a king, and you are the last Cousland. You both have responsibilities which supercede your personal desires."

Samantha let out a sigh that sounded almost like concession. "Yes, we know..."

"Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else." Despite the calmness of Wynne's voice, the words felt colder to Samantha than the hands that were bandaging her. "A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

"I'll save both!" Samantha answered without thinking. Her hands trembled slightly on her lap. She clutched them into fists to stop the shaking, hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Duty always comes first for a Cousland," she recited a line her father had told her many times. "It's my duty as a Cousland to protect my king, and my duty as a Grey Warden to end the Blight." She took a silent deep breath to steel herself and vowed quietly, "I am willing lay down my life for both causes."

"And, thus, hurting Alistair by taking the woman he loves away from him," Wynne concluded as she tied a knot to secure the bandage. She then cast a healing spell to take away some of the pain and speed up the healing process. Alas the spell did nothing for the wrenching pain Samantha felt internally.

"What am I supposed to do, tell Alistair to go away?" asked Samantha, her tone sharper than her beloved dagger.

"You may have to," replied the mage calmly. "To save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later on."

"No!" Samantha refused immediately, steel laced with her soft voice. "He is all I have left. Without him, the fight would be for naught!" _Selfish, selfish! What of duties and saving people?_ she chided herself. But it felt oddly liberating to voice out her most inner thought, selfish it might be.

Samantha never claimed to be the hero everyone seemed to see her as. She was thrown into this uphill battle by fate – and Duncan. The odds were highly stacked against the Wardens from the start. Having nothing else to live for but a stubborn sense of duty attached to her name, nothing else to fight for but her own existence, there were times she wanted to give up when she first joined the Wardens. But gradually, things had changed, all because of one person. Now she had something – someone – to fight for. To take him away would strip away her iron will to fight, her unwavering resolution to end the Blight despite the odd. Selfish as it was, even though what Wynne said might ring true, she needed him.

"I have given my advice. Do with it what you will."

Samantha reached for her shirt and slipped it on, taking the opportunity to draw a deep breath to compose herself from the sudden outburst. "...Thank you for healing me... and for your advice," said Samantha with distant politeness before gathering her armor and left her tent.

* * *

The air outside was cool and refreshing, yet it did nothing to settle Samantha's mind. Curiously, Alistair was nowhere to be found. Just as well. Samantha was not certain how she would react to him after her conversation with Wynne.

"How is your back?" A velvety smooth voice rang from behind.

Samantha turned to see Zevran emerging from his tent. She hastily masked her thoughts behind a faint smile. "Wynne did a marvelous job, as always. It'll heal."

The elf flashed a handsome grin. "That woman's healing skill is marvelous, no? Still, you should be more careful, my dear. Next time, let Alistair take the hit. That fellow can take it with his metal armor. You, on the other hand, can't. And look what it did to your gorgeous armor." He shook his head dramatically in regret as he took her armor from her and inspected the damage. "Tsk tsk, such fine leather too..."

"It was a gift from my brother. I'd like to have it repaired."

"Ah, yes. That brother of yours..." Zevran nodded understandingly. "Well, let's go and see if the famous Dalish smiths can work their magic on your armor, shall we? And if they can't, we'll get you a brand new set from them. The Dalish have some of the sexiest leather armors I've seen in Ferelden."

"'Sexiest?'"

Zevran laughed as he led the way back to the Dalish camp just a short distance away from their campground. The sun was setting, casting a warm amber glow on his light golden hair to match the same hue of his eyes. "Why, of course. Bare midriff, skirt barely long enough to be decent. You might feel cold wearing it, but we would enjoy the lovely view."

"And perhaps it'd provide just enough distraction to the enemies during battles?" Samantha added jokingly to bait Zevran further down the harmless topic. She could use a distraction from her previous conversation.

"Now you're getting it. Smart lass!" He chuckled in delight. "In Antiva, we have warmer weather. Our leather armors are the most exquisite and the sexiest. Ah, what I'd pay to have you and Leliana equip with Antivan finest leather armors."

Samantha was used to Zevran's suggestive banters not to take offense at his jest. "But I've heard women in Antiva are not allowed to be in battles."

"Hm? Where did you hear that?"

"From my brother's wife. She was from Antiva. She said women in Antiva used kindness and poison as their weapons."

"Ah, an Antivan wife. Your brother has good taste in women. While what she said is mostly true, the Crows certainly don't discriminate against women when it comes to recruiting, especially elven ones. We have women, as well as men, in the Crows. And the sexy Antivan armors could sometimes be their most deadly weapons against their targets."

Samantha nodded and turned thoughtful for a moment. "So, have you trained any female recruits?"

"My job is not a trainer, but I've trained with them."

"Zevran, do you think perhaps you could... train me?"

With an eyebrow arched up, his amber eyes twinkled in amusement. "Oh, you would have me give up the Crows secrets?"

"I know I could never kill a regular dragon with my skill, let alone the archdemon. I'd probably be stomped to death before even getting close enough to stab it. And to end the Blight, we have to slay the archdemon..."

The twinkle in his eye subdued instantly. There was a sudden flash of sadness – perhaps regret – that appeared in its place but was gone in the blink of an eye. Samantha wasn't sure if she was imagining it all, for the next second, the assassin's confident grin was plastered back in place. "Ah, why not? The Crows are a already at my back. Why not teach you their secrets and thumb my nose at them, no? But there's one condition."

"What is that?"

"Call me Zev."

Samantha flashed a genuine smile. "Thank you, Zev. I truly mean it."

"Don't thank me yet, my dear Samantha. The Crows trainings are notoriously torturous. But, I'll make it fun. I promise it'd be fun!"

* * *

Lying on her stomach inside her tent, Samantha shut her eyes let her mind wander as she tried to ignore the discomfort on her back. She had left her armor with the Dalish smiths, yet she didn't feel unprotected without it. For her companions were gathering by the campfire outside her tent. The sound of their chatter, especially Zevran and Leliana's, was strangely soothing and reassuring. She knew they would watch over her, as she would them. It was a bond forged over time, an implicit trust to allow them to sleep at night, knowing at least one of them would be on watch.

With the werewolves gone, everyone could sleep better tonight. The crisis wasn't resolved without a price. Zathrian, the keeper of the Dalish clan, sacrificed himself to lift the curse he had placed so many years ago due to hatred and revenge. The human who had been responsible for the tragedy had long been dead, yet hatred ran deep in the keeper's heart, the curse on the human continued to passed onto one generation after another. Sins of their fathers; it would be easier said than done to not connect one generation's deed onto the next one. Samantha couldn't help but wonder if she would hate the younger Howes for what their father had done to her family. She had never been particularly closed to the Howes, although she did get along with Delilah. If, by chance, she encountered Delilah or Thomas, could she still her blades?

Her thought was interrupted when Alistair entered her tent as quietly as he could and whispered, "Sammy? Are you awake?"

"Hm," she made a noise and opened her eyes to see him settling down next to her. Light from the campfire filtered through her tent, enough to brighten its cozy interior. "So you're not mad at me anymore?"

"You know I wasn't mad at you. I was concerned." He lifted the hem of her shirt up to her waist. "May I?"

"Mm." She barely made a noise and shifted her body slightly, allowing him to lift the rest of the shirt up and revealed her bandaged back.

"The bleeding has stopped. Thank the Maker." He pull her shirt back down gingerly, careful not to touch the wounds. He studied her for a moment with an unusually stern face. "Don't do that again. I'm not joking."

She rolled to her side and glanced up to meet his eyes squarely. "I wasn't joking either when I said I would do anything to protect you."

"I can't lose you. I need you." His tone was once again firm and uncompromising.

"Even if I should perish before the Blight ended, I would crawl back from the gates of the Dark City to help you finish our job together," she jested, hoping it would divert his attention. "Couslands never abandon their duties."

Alas, it didn't work this time. "I need you not just for the Blight. You know that."

Samantha sighed in defeat. "Yes, I know... " The unpleasant conversation with Wynne she'd been trying to block out rushed back to her. She carefully shifted to a sitting position and reached out to take his hand in hers. "And I need you, more than you'd ever know," she confessed quietly. His face softened at her touch and her words. She brought his hand up to her lips and gave it a gentle kiss. The remaining traces of a stern look melted back into her beloved pup face. "Tell me, if you had to choose between saving me or saving everyone else, what would you do?"

Alistair's features twisted in utter confusion. "What kind of question is that?" Then a sudden realization hit him. "Oh, I get it. It's Morrigan, isn't it?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What? What about Morrigan?"

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "She talked to you, didn't she?"

"No, she didn't. What are you talking about?"

"You don't have to cover it for her, Sammy. She's already my least favorite person, she can't get any lower on the list. You don't have to lie or anything. She asked me that question the other day as well."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "She did?"

"See? I knew it was her!"

"No, Alistair. It was Wynne who asked me that."

"What? Wynne? Not Wynne too! What _is_ going on?"

"Wynne was... looking out for you. She doesn't want to see you get hurt..."

"Get hurt? Why would I get hurt?"

"She's afraid I might hurt you."

"You?" He stared at her incredulously. "You won't hurt me."

"No, I won't. I will never hurt you," she vowed. "Not intentionally, at least."

"You'd sooner get yourself hurt because of me." He gave a meaningful stare at the bandage hidden under her shirt.

"I notice you haven't answered my question."

"That's a ridiculous question, I don't see why I have to choose." He huffed dismissively. Yet his eyes betrayed him, he was disturbed by that idea. "So what was your answer to Wynne?"

"I'll save both. You and everyone else. Whatever the cost." She intentionally omitted the price she was willing to pay.

"Ha! Good answer! I should have said that to that evil forest witch."

"Alistair." She gave him a look for the name-calling.

Overly innocent puppy face defense was up in the blink of an eye. "Whaaaat?"

Samantha shook her head with an affectionate smile. Was it truly selfish of her not to reject him for what might or might not happen in the future? Samantha didn't know. But she had been dutiful for almost all her life, couldn't she be selfish for this once? She knew how she felt about him, and she showed it by darting forth and planted lingering kiss right on his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked with a goofy grin.

"For being with me." She changed the topic before he could ask anymore questions. "So, where have you been this evening?"

"Oh, right. Almost forgot. I went back to the Dalish camp to get you some potions."

"Morrigan can brew us some potions if you want."

"Hmph, I bet she doesn't know the Dalish secret recipe."

"Secret recipe?" She raised one eyebrow. "Will I be the fairest of them all in the entire Ferelden after drinking it?"

"You already are."

She glanced skeptically at him. "Since when have you become so good with empty flattery?"

"Who says it's empty?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Zevran is having a bad influence on you."

He chuckled. "Drink this, it will take away the pain and help you sleep."

Samantha took the bottle from him. She sniffed at it and winced in disgust. The herbal smell was strong, with more than a hint of bitterness. She absolutely hated bitterness. "Do I have to drink this?" she whined with a slight pout.

He seemed to have gained immunity from her wiles, at least this time. "Not unless you want to spend all night crying in pain, keeping me up as well."

"You don't have to stay with me tonight."

"Oh! So you finally kick me out of your tent. It's been no more than a few weeks and you are getting tired of me already."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, I don't have to stay. But I want to." He made a point by starting to remove his armor. "Who is going to protect you if some wild animals decide to attack you at night?"

"Why would they want to attack me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you taste the sweetest? I mean, I don't know how the others taste, and I don't ever want to find out..." He shuddered at that idea dramatically before leaning in with a flirtatious smile. "But I do happen to know you taste very, very sweet..."

She couldn't help but break into a smile that lit up her face. "I'd never get tired of you." She playfully tapped the tip of his nose. Then, taking a final look at the potion in her hand, downed the content in one gulp and grimaced at the taste.

"Good." He took the empty vial from her and handed her a water bottle. "Wash it down."

She took a long drink from the bottle, still grimacing from the leftover taste. "You don't happen to have a slice of sweet and tasty pie to wash off that taste, do you?"

"I'm sorry, my dear lady, we are fresh out of pie," he jested as he took the water bottle from her and put it aside. "Once we get back to Redcliffe, I'll ask the chef to bake you whatever pie your heart desires."

"This is why I love you."

"What? You love me because I promise you a pie? Damn! I should have stuffed you with pies months ago then."

"You would bait me with pies? That's evil." She mocked a scowl at him as she reached out to help him with one of many belts on his armor.

"Nefarious, even." He flashed a sly grin.

Samantha returned a quick smile, then stayed thoughtful as she helped him with the remaining buckles. "May I ask you a... personal question?"

"Not another one of those ridiculous questions again, is it?" He arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Well, I'm ready this time. My answer is 'I will kill that dragon, save the country, and live happily ever after with the woman I love. Whatever the cost.'"

"'Whatever the cost'..." she echoed quietly. "I agree. We will end the Blight together. But that wasn't my question."

"Oh?" He shrugged off his armor and set it aside. "Well, I don't know if there's anything else about me that you don't already know. But, I'm game. What is it?"

"Do you hate Anora for what her father did to Duncan?"

"Hm? Why do you suddenly ask that?"

"Just... humor me."

"All right... No, I don't hate her. Not unless she had anything to do with Loghain betraying the Wardens and Cailan. I don't think she'd want her husband killed. At least I hope she didn't want that."

She nodded in acknowledgment but remained quiet.

"Care to tell me what this is about?"

"The hatred Zathrian carried did not stop at just the perpetrators, but it carried onto their descendants as well. In the end, it consumed him and blinded him." Samantha looked straight into Alistair's eyes. "You are a better person than I am, my love."

He was confused by her sudden compliment. "I wouldn't say that."

"You are so certain you wouldn't hate Anora for her father's crime. Yet I can't say for sure how I would feel if I ever saw Delilah or Thomas."

"Who are they?"

"The Howes."

"Oh..."

"Delilah was a friend. She was different than the other noble ladies, didn't put on airs. And Thomas... Hm..." She scrunched her face as though she'd just tasted something sour.

"Let me guess: a suitor?"

She let out a sigh. "He's a few years younger than me, and his father pushed to set us up."

It's Alistair's turn to scrunch his face. "You marrying a Howe? And a younger one too?"

Samantha snorted quite unladylike. "Maybe if Nathaniel was around, his father might push him to me instead. Or, perhaps not, I doubt Nathaniel would be willing to be pushed around like his little brother."

"So where is this lucky man who dodged the painful duty to marry our Lady Cousland?" he asked sarcastically.

"He left for Free Marches a few years back." She shrugged indifferently. "Delilah and Thomas are in Amaranthine. Who knows? They may even be at Highever castle right now..." Those words left a bitter taste in her mouth, worse than the potion she had just taken, and it showed on her face.

"We will claim back Highever once the Blight is over," he vowed firmly.

"I never doubt you on that." She smiled faintly for him. "My doubt lies within myself. What would I do if I met Delilah and Thomas?"

"You would do the right thing. I know you would."

"You certainly have faith in me. More than I could say so myself."

"Of course I do. I always do. Even when I don't trust myself, I trust you."

"Thank you, Alistair. That... means a lot to me." She leaned in and gave him a well-earned tender kiss. "What have I ever done to deserve you?"

"Hm, let's see. You are ravishing, resourceful, intelligent, and a list of other good things," he jested. "While I am just a homeless orphan who was lucky enough to have fate throw you at my direction."

"Funny. I thought I was the homeless orphan here."

"Well, what do you know? It would seem we both are. Maybe we are a good match after all."

Her lips curled into a real smile that reached her eyes. "That we are." Her head suddenly felt light, her muscles started to relax. "The potion is working..."

"Just relax and sleep, I'll be right here."

She shifted to lay down on her side once again, taking extra care not to hurt the wounds on her back. "You don't have to stay."

"Shh..." He lied down on his back beside her.

"Alistair...?"

"Hm?"

"Zevran has agreed to train me."

"What?" He turned his head to stare her incredulously with a frown. "You want to be an assassin now?"

Her eyelids became heavy, but she struggled to stay awake with him for a moment longer. "... Don't be silly. He'll train me to fight, not to assassinate."

"I can train you!"

"I don't use a shield, silly..." She gave in and closed her eyes.

There was a moment of silence. "Fine," he conceded with a heavy sigh. "Should I be worried that you might poison me from now on?"

She let out a soft giggle no louder than a whisper. "... Me? I can't even brew a proper cup of tea, let alone deadly poison..."

"Guess I don't have to worry about that, then."

"... never hurt you, love..." She felt a soft kiss on her forehead before drifting to sleep with a faint smile curling on her lips.


	24. You Drive Me Crazy

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Intermission. Let's take a break and take a peek into Alistair's head during some past events. Snippets here and there from different chapters. Nothing serious. Skip this if you want. Just something light and fluffy for the holidays. I'll do some serious editing during the next few weeks. Regular updates resume after new year.

A big thank you for spending your time reading this silly little story, this one is for you. Happy Holidays.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four: You Drive Me Crazy**

* * *

**Fireside Gossips:**

The night air was cool; the campfire was warm. And the normally reserved young woman next to him surprised him by teasing him. Well, he did start it first, sort of, by asking for her opinions on their companions – a glorified gossip session, really. What else was he supposed to do when he was on night watch with a beautiful woman? Staring at her all night long, or rather, trying _not_ to stare at her at all? He was never good with women, even worse when they were pretty, and the one next to him definitely fell into that category.

"Ah... I see." There was a twinkle in Samantha's eyes. "Beautiful, mysterious, and seductive. Perhaps I should switch my watch with her tomorrow night, just so you could have a chance to... get to know her."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up, shocked by her implication. "That's not what I meant," he huffed with exasperation and shook his head firmly. Sure, Leliana was absolutely stunning with her fiery red hair and pouty full lips, but there was something about the bard that intimidated him. Perhaps it had to do with just how quiet she moved. She could easily be right behind him, ready to slit his throat for all he knew. Or perhaps it had to do with her mysterious past. A beautiful Orlesian woman who just happened to seek shelter in a local chantry of a small town in Ferelden, who liked it there so much and spent the next two years as a sister? Right. He'd sooner believe the blonde woman next to him was the queen of Ferelden. "Not all men like those dangerous and mysterious type, you know. Trust me."

"I take it you like another type, then." The corners of her lips curled up in a smile that lit up her face. He liked that expression on her. It was warm and soft; it suited her.

Alistair forced himself to stop staring by rolling his eyes in exaggeration. "Poke, poke, poke! 'Why don't you tell me the past twenty years of your life, Alistair?'" He couldn't quite hide a small grin when he noticed she stiffed a giggle at his jest. Did she really just almost giggle? He was rather proud of himself to get that reaction from her. "Fine, I'll indulge you. We have nothing better to do anyhow. I... haven't really thought about it much. You know, living in a monastery ever since I was ten didn't exactly put me in the best position to think about... women much." Alistair could _not_ believe he just blurted that out. He quickly added, "Not that I don't think about it. And now that I'm free of the chantry, there's another teeny tiny inconvenience called the Blight keeps getting in the way. As a Grey Warden, I might die anytime, it does make things difficult to start a relationship, if I could even find that someone, that is." He saw her smile faded and mentally smacked himself for heading to that depressing subject. "But don't cry for me or anything, I've resigned to my fate of dying young and alone, probably eaten by darkspawn."

Her eyes clouded with sadness and settled on the campfire, avoiding his. _Smooth, Alistair. Really smooth._ He knew that look. It was less than a few months ago that Duncan had told him the catch of being a Warden. There was always a catch, wasn't there? He had been furious, and it had taken weeks for him to accept the fact of dying young. For her, the news had only hit her for no more than a week, and it was he who had the pleasure of delivering that bad news.

"I suppose." She nodded and then looked straight at him. "Although I don't think you would die alone; I'd be there to kill the darkspawn that tried to eat you. Unless I was being eaten by darkspawn as well. In that case, we wouldn't be dying alone either. We are in this together, remember?" Her lips once again curled up in a smile, although this time it didn't reach her eyes. He knew it was a kind gesture just for his benefit, to comfort him while he was the one who was depressing her.

He studied the newest Warden as discreetly as he could. She was young, around his age. Her hands, now out of her gloves, were too smooth to have seen much work. Her necklaces were too exquisite to be cheap trinkets. And her blades were too finely made to be regular weapons. She was no common farm girl who was saved from poverty by Duncan. Nor was she weathered enough to be a soldier who dreamed of the glory of being a Warden. But none of that truly mattered. Whoever she was, wherever she came from, she was all he had left to rely on. Together, they needed to end the Blight, one way or another. Well, at least Maker was smiling on him when He granted him a partner with a kind heart. Or course, having a pretty face didn't hurt either.

"Yes, of course we are." He smiled warmly at her, then wisely changed the topic before it got more depressing. "Anyway, what about you?"

"What about me?" Her fine brows knitted in mild confusion.

He flashed a small teasing grin. "What is your type?"

She blinked blankly at first, as though she didn't understand the question. But the slight pink flush on her cheeks suggested otherwise. "I... honestly don't have one."

He quite liked the coloring on her face and decided to see if he could make her fluster even more. "Aw, don't you women think about this kind of things all the time?"

"Not anymore frequently than you men think about women," she informed him indignantly, sparring with words. But the pink tint on her face and slight wrinkle of her nose told him she was just playing his game. "And to satisfy your curiosity, I haven't thought about it, not lately, anyhow. If you asked me a few years ago, I could have told you precisely what I liked. But, I was just a child then. Every girl dreams, after all."

That was more than he could hope for. In fact, he didn't really expect her to answer him. Makers seemed to be truly smiling on him, and so, he pushed his luck. "All right then, what did you like?"

Her eyes had a faraway look and a warm smile appeared as she dived into her memories to seek out her childhood dream. Whomever she was thinking about had the power to draw that smile on her face. Alistair couldn't help but envy the person in her mind right now. "Dashing prince."

He choked in horror as blood withdrew from his face. _WHAT? P-prince? Did she know I- No, she doesn't know! What if she knew- Oh, MAKER! _Blood flushed back to his cheeks at that implication. _You aren't really a prin- Andraste's flaming sword! Stop thinking about that word! She doesn't know who you are! … Does she? _Blood left his face once again._ No! Of course she doesn't know! You're a Warden, not a prince!_

Alistair took a few silent deep breath to force himself to calm himself down. He could feel cold sweats forming despite the warm fire. Thankfully, his Warden partner was still lost in her revery, with a lovely smile still plastered on her face. Whatever memories she was reliving must have been some pleasant ones. Alistair absently wondered which prince she was referring to, and he could only think of one single person. He groaned quietly at the most obvious answer forming inside his head. _Cailan... _

_

* * *

_

**Revelations:**

Redcliffe was getting closer and closer each step he took. Alistair knew he had to tell her sooner or later, but he still preferred it to be later, for he still hadn't figured out how he should tell her. How did one approach a topic about revealing oneself to be a _prince_? No, he was _not_ a prince by any measure. He did not look like one, nor did he act like one, and he certainly did not want to be one. The only link he had to royalty was that damned blood in his vein. Alistair couldn't be sure what damned him more: Maric's blood or darkspawn blood?

He look over to his partner. She was quiet, lost in her own thought. He noticed she still had a haunted look in her eyes once in a while, especially when she thought no one was looking. Like right now. Being almost conscripted just after seeing her whole family massacred must have been a horribly traumatic experience. Added the event in Ostagar to the mix merely a week after that would easily drive any sane person over the edge, if not completely lose their mind. Sometimes he wondered if he would wake up one day and find her gone in the middle of the night. He really couldn't blame her if she did. The task they were facing was tremendous, the odds were highly stacked against them. Yet, he could not give up, not with what was at stake. Duncan would be sorely disappointed if he did.

Samantha seemed to have sense him looking at her. She glanced over inquisitively with an eyebrow arched. "Hm? Something wrong?"

"Nothing," he mumbled then quickly turned his gaze to the road ahead of him. Those sky blue eyes were so clear, sometimes he wondered if she could see right through him. Thankfully she didn't pursue the topic. She slowed her pace to keep a distance from him, probably to give him space. Yes, she would do that. As young as his partner seemed, she was one of the most understanding persons he had ever met. Perhaps she would be just as understanding when he inevitably revealed his secret?

One could only hope.

* * *

**Play the Game:**

Alistair was more than pleasantly surprised by his Warden partner's choice of action in Redcliffe; he was positively delighted. It would have been much easier to end the crisis by either killing Connor or sacrificing Isolde for some forbidden blood magic. Truth be told, his first instinct was to go with the first choice, however vile it might sound, to save the lives of all the innocent people. In fact, he remembered stating his opinion to Samantha, and he remembered vividly the disbelief on her face when he said that. He regretted instantly when he saw the look on her face.

But, thankfully, he wasn't the one who made the painful decision. Samantha chose the hardest, yet the most humane path. For that, he was truly grateful. If only she knew how much it meant to him to save the arl's family. If only she knew how lovely she looked when her face lit up with a smile.

Although lately, her face was no longer the only thing that was capturing his attention. Her personality began to shine through as her guard lower further and further as days went by. She had been more relaxed around him ever since her secret had been out – well, both of their secrets. He could related. It was as though they had nothing more to hide from each other, holding back no thoughts or words. It was a great relief for Alistair to have her accept him for who he truly was, not who he was supposed to be. He had no problem returning the favor, and promised to see her as his trusted partner instead of the late teyrn's daughter either. And he certainly wouldn't mind seeing her as more than his partner in crime.

"I can't imagine what life would be like growing up in a chantry. It must have been hard for a child to live under such strict rules, and not to mention very scary at least at first. I would hate it there too, were I you. I could barely sit through Mother Mallol's sermon when I was young." She wrinkled her nose at the distant memories.

For a moment, he could only stared at her. Her words did not seem not empty. There was a certain sincerity behind them that touched him. "Well, living in the chantry is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. But they taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself." He noticed a twitch in her eyebrow when he said beautiful. Was he too honest? "That's not so bad, is it?" he asked tentatively.

She hesitated momentarily before she answered. "Not really, no." She shook her head with a smile. Her long ponytail sent flying behind her head; golden hair caught every bit of sunlight that was filtered through the canopy of leaves above them.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "You'd... want a gentleman to court you, wouldn't you? If... if you were to be courted by someone, that is," he blurted out before his courage dissipated into thin air, then waited with his breath held, bracing for the predictable 'no'.

Instead of rejecting him as he'd so pessimistically predicted, her face flushed to a light shade of pink. "That counts as a question, you know. Are you sure you want to use your turn to ask me that?" she asked very slowly and clearly, as though she wanted him to be certain of his question before she'd provide an answer.

Truth be told, there was nothing more certain that what he felt right now. He wanted to know if he would even have a chance with her at all. Better shot his hopes down before they inevitably raised up too high. It would hurt less. He had never asked a woman that kind of question. Was there even an appropriate way to ask such questions? He took a silent deep breath, before taking a leap of faith and confirmed, "Well... yes."

She looked away and focused on the path in front of her. His eyes traced her profile, then settled on her long lashes and watched as they batted unconsciously while she was thinking. It must have been the longest few seconds of his life. But eventually, she turned to him with a smile that warmed his heart and an answer that calm his nerves. "I'd like that."

He released a breath he was holding and returned her gesture with a bashful grin. "That's good to know. I'll... I'll have remember that."

The day had just gotten much brighter for the bastard prince.

* * *

**Lost and Found:**

Alistair still couldn't believe he was holding it in his hand. After more than ten years of separation, the single most important possession he'd ever had in his life once again found its way back to him.

"This... this is my mother's amulet. It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?" He shifted his gaze from the locket to the woman who delivered it to him.

"Inside the castle, in the study," Samantha informed him meaningfully.

"Oh. The arl's study?" He looked at the locket once again, confused. His mother's amulet was smaller than he remembered. "Then he must have... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand, why would he do that?" He looked back up at her, desperately seeking for answers he knew she did not hold.

"Maybe he meant to give it back to you." Her voice was as soft as her gaze.

The cracks on the pendant were testimonies of both his foolishness in his youth and Arl Eamon's infinite patience. "Maybe he did. He might even have brought it with him one of those times he came to see me at the monastery... not that I would have given him a chance, as belligerent as I was to him."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself. You were young." There was a hidden layer of steel laced with her quiet tone, prompting him to believe her words, to believe in himself.

And he knew she was right. "Thank you. I mean it." He looked straight into her eyes. Sky blue hue turned into a darker shade under the warm glow of the setting sun. "I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his..." He quickly shook his head and corrected himself, "when he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago."

"It's never too late." She took the amulet from him and stepped close until there was no space between them. Her arm reached up and wrapped behind his neck.

For a brief moment, he thought she was about to kiss him – and she was certainly close enough to. He froze in both disbelief and anticipation until he realized she was merely looping the chain of the amulet around his neck.

He plastered on a small grin to hide his disappointment as he studied her closely while she worked on the clasp. If he leaned in just a bit, he could kiss her forehead. "Did you remember me mentioning it?" he teased her softly and watched as a faint smile played on her lips as a silent confirmation. "Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening to me when I go on about things."

"Of course I remembered." She adjusted the chain around his neck and patted the locket gently. "You are special- You are you."

His eyes widened slightly in surprise – pleasant surprise, as he felt a burning heat raised up from his neck to his face to his ears. He knew the understated meaning of her words, for he had used the exact same three words to her earlier that day. He thought she had missed his implication, which would not be surprising as he was never a master of words, but apparently nothing was lost. She'd understood him then, as he understood her now. He noted the shade on her cheeks were no less pink as his. Instinct told him to pull her in his arms and swooped down to kiss those rosy lips he had been secretly fantasizing about for quite some time. But fear took over. Fear of rejection, and most of all, fear of losing someone he considered as his best friend. And so, the bastard prince once again hid behind his strongest shield: humor.

"Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing? Because I'm game. Where's the minstrels?" He laughed to hide his fear and regret. Perhaps one day, he would find the courage to tell her how he truly felt. Perhaps one day, he would finally taste those lips to once and for all confirm if they were as soft as they appeared to be.

Perhaps one day. But not today.

* * *

**Of Lies and Broken Dreams:**

His world was falling apart, spiraling down out of control. Alistair stood, but he couldn't feel the ground underneath his boots. His eyes opened, but he couldn't see anything in front of him. Last time he felt this way was when Flemeth told him the fate of Duncan and the rest of the Wardens. But this, this was different. His lifelong dream had been mercilessly shattered by cold reality. The sister he had been dreaming about was nothing but a cold-hearted shrew. It almost made him want to dive back into the illusion that sloth demon had created for him in Fade.

"Well that was... not what I expected. To put it lightly." Alistair shook his head in disbelief, still trying to make sense of everything. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it."

"I'm sorry it turned out like this." He heard Samantha voicing her regrets.

"Yes... I'm sorry, too." He tried to force a chuckle but nothing came out. He should laugh at his own stupidity, but he couldn't. He wasn't even sure how he felt beside heartbroken. "I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I... I feel like a complete idiot."

Alistair saw her stepping towards him. His mind was too overwhelmed to process her action until he felt her arms wrapped around him. Something inside him clicked. The warmth of her body and the faint floral scent from her skin became the anchor he desperately needed in order not to be washed away in the sea of chaotic emotions. He clung to her tight, as if he was afraid she would slip away the moment he loosened his grip. He dipped his head down and buried his face on the side of her neck, getting as close to the floral scent as he could, seeking it to calm his senses. He felt her fingers gently stroke the back of his head, knowing the absurdity of the act on a grown man like him, yet couldn't deny the calming effect of it. Her warmth, her scent, her touch, all felt strangely soothing to him. Under normal circumstances, he would have blushed furiously at their closeness. Yet, he didn't feel awkward about their physical contact, not even the slightest. It felt right to him; _she_ felt right.

He was surprised by his own disappointment when she let him go and took a step back. "You are not an idiot, Alistair. You have been told how much of an inconvenience you were and treated as such for all your life. Always unwanted and abandoned. It's _not_ idiotic to wish for unconditional acceptance, or a family to finally belong to. You have been trying too hard to be who you are told to be, never once really think about yourself – what you really want, what truly makes you happy. You should start to look out for yourself, and don't let anyone take advantage of you anymore. Or you'd never be happy."

He took a moment to digest her words. Each one rang true. "Yes. I suppose you're right. I should," he admitted reluctantly with a heavy sigh. "Although it'd be nice to have someone who would care about me for a change. I thought I could find it from my half-sister."

There was a flash in her eyes. "You don't need her. You have others who care about you."

"Such as?" he asked rather bitterly, couldn't quite bite back his tongue. With his sister presumably out of his life for good, he was once again left all alone, abandoned. First Eamon, then Duncan, now Goldanna. "The only person who ever cared about me was Duncan. And he's gone."

A fine brow raised as her sympathetic gaze sharpened. "_I_ care about you." There was a rare edge to her voice that demanded his full attention. "Or perhaps it matters not to you that I do?"

Hazel eyes widened in panic at her last sentence. "No! I didn't mean that!" _Good job shoving your foot in your mouth AGAIN, you idiot. _ He took a breath to compose his thought, or tried to. It was then the first part of her words sank in. His face flushed a few shades darker both in embarrassment and fear of getting her angry – well, angrier. "I care about you, too. I really do. I..." he trailed off, swallowing whatever words he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. At least not now, not when she was about to chew his head off. He watched as her expression softened and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'm glad you came with me. "

She gave him a look, that very same look that had been driving him crazy for quite some time. Maybe it was the slight pout of her lower lips, or the batting of her lashes, or the faint knot between her brows; he couldn't quite point out. Whatever it was, she did it unconsciously yet effectively. For he knew, with just that look, her desire would become his command. If only she knew the power she held over him. Alistair was content to keep her in the dark.

"Come. I know just the thing you need right now to cheer you up."

"Right..." He wasn't sure if there was anything that could cheer him up, yet he couldn't refuse her.

"You'll see..." She hooked her hand onto his arm and led the way. He stole a glance at the delicate hand on his arm, then its owner next to him. If this young woman were to sell him to the slave market right now, Alistair was quite certain he wouldn't think of escaping, just so he could spend the last possible second to be with her.

Duncan might be gone, and Goldanna turned out to be a childish fantasy, but this woman next to him was real, and she was right here. Just as she had been right by his side since Ostagar.

Perhaps all was not lost.

* * *

**The Golem Connection:**

This was the third time today that she'd gotten angry; the second time she was angry because of him.

"I was just standing up for you!" Samantha's eyebrows knitted tighter. "I hate to see you get hurt."

Yes, in a way he knew she was defending him, but he never knew why. Not until now. His mind drew a blank at the revelation. "...I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything, just listen." There was a rare sharpness in her tone. She stared straight at him. Blue eyes blazing, bearing down into his hazel ones. He couldn't look away. "You know we are in this together. I've promised you that we will see this through together, every step of the way – the treaties, the battles, and everything in between. I will stand by you, always, be it to face your shrew sister or the archdemon. And I swear on the Cousland's honor that I will protect you with my life if I must, not because you are the royal heir and it's my duty to do so, but because I–" She sealed her lips tight suddenly with her eyes slightly widened.

He waited for her to continue, he _wanted_ her to continue. But she never did. So he prompted tentatively, "You...?"

There was a moment of silence. And when she spoke again, the expression on her face was carefully guarded, unreadable. Alistair did not like that look on her face; she felt distant. "I have lost everyone, too, Alistair. I am as much of a homeless orphan as you are. Fergus is..." She paused with a frown. Her voice began to crack when she continued, "... He is still missing, you are the closest to a family that I have left. My home is now here – at the camp or an inn, wherever we are – with you. I cannot– I will not lose you too."

He was beyond stunned by her words. His heart simultaneously broke and melted by her confession. How was that even possible to feel two distinctive feelings at once? But he knew how he felt. Now, if only he knew what to say as well. Alas, all he could come up with was the lamest line. "I... I didn't know you felt that way..." Alistair smacked himself mentally in disgust as the words left his mouth. His usual charm and wits had abandoned him just when he needed them the most.

"Well, you do now." She arched an eyebrow nonchalantly and straightened her back. Her face was once again guarded. Sitting across from him was the dignified Lady Cousland, not the friendly Samantha he had come to know and like. But he knew her too well to know she was merely using her poise front as a shield, just as he would hide behind humor and sarcasm.

Alistair was wracking his own mind, trying hard to come up with something to say. Anything at all. But his mind continued to draw blank. Once again, there was a voice inside his head yelling at him to act instead of speak, urging him to throw caution in the wind and just kiss her. But he couldn't bring himself to listen to that voice, not when she was vulnerable. He could never forgive himself if he took advantage of her.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his face flushed pink, Alistair stumbled to find the right words to express how he felt. "I– er..." Actions would have been much easier.

Without warning, she pushed herself up from the chair and straightened her cloak. "I should go."

Panicked, he caught her hand with his to stop her from leaving. "Sammy..." Her nickname rolled off his tongue naturally, but that wasn't what alarmed him. "Oh, Maker! Your hand is cold!" He took her other hand and cupped them with his, trying his best to warm her up. Despite the iciness of her skin, her hands felt soft, too delicate for a woman who knew how to handle her blades.

A genuine tender smile curled up on her lips as her guard was lowered. Alistair was relieved to have his Sammy back. _Wait a minute, MY Sammy?_ "It's been a long day, Alistair. I would like to take a hot bath before I really catch a cold." She gave his hands a squeeze before releasing them.

He didn't even bother to hide his disappointment as she broke the contact. There were so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her. But words faded away before he could even form a coherent sentence inside his head. Perhaps he should have listened to that voice and just kissed her when he had the chance. But moments like those were gone as fast as they came. He had missed his chance. He could only hope next time he would have the courage to act without thinking. _If_ there was even a next time.

Samantha reached out and brushed her fingers down the side of his face very gently. "Goodnight, Alistair."

"Goodnight, Sammy..." The feeling of her touch lingered on his cheek as he watched her disappeared around the corner. He picked up the golem doll from the table with a heavy sigh. The image of a pig-tailed blonde little girl with fancy dress playing in the stable formed inside his head. Fate had thrown her at his direction not just once, but twice. Twelve years ago, they were two worlds apart. But now their paths crossed once again and merged into one. Surely fate would grant him one more chance to set things right, wouldn't it?

"You have a new toy, I see." Alistair looked up and saw Wynne chuckling softly at the golem statue in his hands.

"Well... Sammy- Nevermind." He shook his head, not bothering to share the tale. He wanted to keep something especial just between the two of them, even though it was something as mundane as a toy. The mage smiled and went on her way, but Alistair stopped her. "Wynne, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

Alistair set his precious toy down and ran a hand through his hair, struggling to come up with the right way to approach the topic in his head. "So... what would you do if someone told you that they loved you?"

* * *

**La Vie en Rose:**

Alistair never felt this scared in his life. Facing down a dragon might even be less intimidating that what he was about to do. But, for his own sake, he had to do it, and he had to do it now. The past week had been driving him crazy. He had played his conversation with Samantha the night at the inn again and again inside his head. Each time, he winced at just how 'charmingly eloquent' he was. He had not had another chance to talk to her in private during their travel from Denerim to Redcliffe, not even in the camp at night. Perhaps it was his imagination, he felt as though she was avoiding him. Alistair certainly hope it was truly just his imagination.

But now, he saw an opening. He was told she had left Redcliffe Castle moments ago by herself. Without giving himself a chance to think it through, he rushed back to his guestroom and retrieved an item from his pack, then ran outside to look for her. The time to think and ponder was long over, now was the time to act. He had dismissed his instinct twice already and each time he was left with regrets, he was not about to lose another chance. Thankfully, he knew Redcliffe like the back of his hand. No matter where she went, he would find her.

Maker must be smiling down on him, for he did not have to look any further than the outer gate of the castle. Standing by the bridge, looking down at the view of the lake was the woman he was seeking. Yet, she did not look quite like the Samantha he had been seeing every day for the past few months. Instead of her usual leather armor or her traveling outfit, she was wearing a long light blue dress. Alistair hadn't the faintest idea where she got that dress from, nor did he particularly cared. All he could think of was how the dress seemed to hug the curves on her body – especially her backside as she was bending over the edge to view the lake below, even though the dress was long enough to cover every inch of her skin.

His ears burned hot at some thoughts surfacing inside his head. If the sisters in chantry knew just what he was thinking, they would certainly force him to face a wall and recite the scripture a hundred times. Thank the Maker his chantry days were over.

Folding one arm behind his back, concealing the rose he was holding, Alistair took a leap of faith and approached the lady in blue. This time, he would tell her exactly how he felt about her without hesitation. This time, he would listen to his instinct and kiss her without any doubt. Fear had no hold on him anymore, for he finally realized his chance of happiness had been around him all this time. All he had to do was to reach out and hold her.

* * *

**Crazy Little Thing Called Love:**

Alistair stirred in his sleep. Something soft and warm pushed itself closer to him and nestled by his side. He felt a weight on his chest and smelled a pleasantly familiar scent nearby. Still too tired to open his eyes, he took a sniff in the air and absently recognized it as a sweet floral scent – rose, to be precise.

Rose...

He shot his eyes opened at that one single thought. He was momentarily stunned when he glanced down and saw a mop of long blonde hair resting on his chest. But it took him less than a second for his mind to wake up and catch up with the reality. Snuggling next to him, using his chest as a pillow was just his Sammy. He relaxed immediately and sank his head back onto the pillow with a goofy grin on his face. For her, he was more than glad to be her pillow, or even more, if it pleased her.

Judging from the light filtering through the thick curtain, or lack thereof, it was not even dawn. But his mind refused to go back to sleep as it went through what happened merely a few hours ago. It would be a lie if he said he had never thought about sex. It would be even a bigger lie if he said he hadn't thought about it with her. But the reality was better than fantasy in more ways that he could have imagined. The way she tasted and the way she felt drove him absolutely insane, even by thinking about it right now his head was about to explode.

But it was more than pure physical pleasure. The emotional connection knowing she was his as he was hers, bound him even closer to her than ever. Never had he thought he could be so close to one person at every level. He loved this woman more than life itself, yet, strangely, he found it incredibly hard to say those three little words to her directly. Beside blurting it out oh-so suavely that night by the campfire, he could only whispered it to her _after_ she had fallen asleep last night. But it didn't matter, did it? She certainly knew how much he cared about her, did she not?

Samantha shifted and rolled away from him as if she was answering his question. She settled beside him with her back facing him, snuggling up to the thick blanket, replacing him with a real pillow. The warmth of her body left with her; he suddenly felt cold. Sighing wearily, he popped himself up by his elbow and leaned over to her sleeping form. "Sam?" he whispered to see if she was awake. The only answer she gave him was her soft breathing as she blissfully slept away. Satisfied with her lack of response, he continued in whisper, "You know I love you, right? I do, more than anything. Don't you ever forget that."

Happy with his confession, he planted a soft kiss on her cheek before lying down once again. Shifting close to her, he put a protective arm across her torso and gently pull her to his chest, once again feeling the softness and the warmth of her body against him. All was well. Feeling her next to him was all he needed to lull him back to sleep.

One thought drifted into his mind just before he lost consciousness: he was addicted to her, and he loved it.

* * *

**Sine Qua Non: **

"Alistair!" A sharp shout was all the warning he had. The next thing he knew, he heard her scream and felt her body slamming hard onto his back. Alistair immediately whipped around and saw Samantha falling onto the ground in front of him, a werewolf looming over her body with its claws dripped in blood.

His blood froze inside his vein at that sight. Rage took over as he bashed the werewolf with his shield as hard as he could, driving it away from her fallen form. His sword arm followed through reflectively and drove his sword into the chest of the beast, piercing its heart. His twisted his sword as the beast roared in pain before it drew its last breath, then sent it flying with a swift kick on its chest.

Alistair immediately rushed back to Samantha's side and found her twitching in pain. The back of her leather armor was torn through; blood began to sip through the wounds. "WYNNE!" he yelled as loud as he could. "WYNNE!" He could only watch in horror as blood gathered underneath her._ Maker, please, no, no..._

The mage cast a healing spell from a distance before rushing to the young woman's side. A warm glow surrounded Samantha's body briefly before it dissipated. Samantha pushed herself up but moaned in pain. "Don't move, Sammy. Don't move." Alistair tried to be as calm and soothing as he could. "You'll be all right." _You have to be all right!_

Wynne was by their sides, squatting down to examine the wounds. Without hesitation, she cast yet another healing spell. "I will cast spells to halt the bleeding temporarily, but we need to get back to the camp as soon as possible."

Samantha managed to sit up as the healing spells numbed the pain. "We will get back to the camp as soon as the curse is lifted. No sooner." Her eyes steeled with determination.

"Sam! Wynne needs to patch you up!"

"And she will, once we get the treaty!" She stubbornly got back to her feet with her sword popping her up.

"No! We need to go back now! You can't fight like this!" Alistair put an arm around her to support her further.

"We've come so far, we cannot go back now." She glanced up at him and gave him a pleading look. "Alistair, please..."

He should not back down, not on this. But he couldn't find himself to refuse her. He simply couldn't say no to those blue eyes. Alistair sighed in defeat. "Fine. But you _will_ stay by my side and not a step further." He didn't need to see the small scowl on her face to know she was annoyed. She didn't like to be coddled anymore than he did, but it was necessary. He could _not_ lose her. "Sammy, please..."

Samantha looked at him for a brief moment, and, much to his relief, eventually agreed.

The small pool of blood stayed on the ground as they ventured further down the tunnel. Her blood. A chill ran down his spine as he realized just how easy it was to lose her forever. He made a silent vow to himself, then and there, that he would do anything in his power to protect her, whatever the cost.


	25. The Birds and the Bees and the Blades

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Happy new year to everyone. One of my new year resolutions is to finish this story. Even if there's only one of you left reading it, I'll still finish it. During the break I wrote the last two chapters, and was pretty happy with the first draft. If everything goes according to the plan, there should be fifty chapters total, which makes this chapter the middle point.

This was written long age because of my love for Zevran. I was about to throw away this chapter and skip to the next one, but I thought perhaps we should start the year with a lighter tone. Even shows like Lost have its pointless episodes, why not this fic? So here is it.

Zevran's first line is a homage to Jarlaxle from the Forgotten Realms, one of my absolute favorite characters. The book Zevran mentioned was canon, from Human Noble origin. I didn't make that up. Miss Alistair? He'll be back full time next chapter.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Five: The Birds and the Bees and the Blades

* * *

The path to Orzammar was treacherous and deceivingly further than it appeared on the map. The weather was getting colder as they headed north along Lake Calenhad. But neither the weather nor the road condition would stop the Wardens from pursuing the last treaty. Against all odds, the two young Wardens had gathered support from the Circle of Magi, the dalish elves, and Arl Eamon. With additional assistance from the dwarven warriors, they might just have a fighting chance to end the Blight once and for all.

The group had already set camp for the day, yet there was still an hour or so of sunlight left. Even though what she wanted to do most in this cold weather was to snuggle up to a thick blanket inside her tent with a hot cup of tea, Samantha chose not to waste any time.

In a small clearing near the camp ground, two slender figures danced gracefully to the sound of metal clinking as their blades met. Both clad in leather armors, both with golden hair fanned out as they spun around to dodge the other's weapons. But one of them, as always, had the upper hand; for one was the teacher, the other was his student.

"Faster! Faster, I say!" Zevran swung one of his daggers furiously at Samantha, pushing her back on her heels.

Samantha deflected each swing with her own blade, forced to quicken her speed to keep up with the elf's. Blades clinked; metal rang. Again. And again. And again. Each strike sent a small vibration from the blade of her sword down to her arm. They had been sparring for almost an hour, her arms were getting sore. Yet, her teacher showed no sign of fatigue. If any, Zevran seemed to have nicely warmed up for some real actions.

"Don't just look at my dagger," Zevran reminded her as he attacked even faster. "It won't tell you where I'll strike next."

She shifted her focus from his spinning dagger to his amber eyes and found them briefly glanced at her torso. It wasn't a moment too soon, for the very next second, the elf's second dagger drove straight into her stomach. But Samantha had seen where his eyes landed. She brought her dagger up immediately and deflected Zevran's just in time.

"Good," said Zevran with a grin. He stepped back and retracted both his daggers. "Next time, there won't be any warnings."

"I'll keep that in mind." Samantha flashed him a grateful smile and wiped her forehead with the back of her head, catching her breath from the latest training. The air was cold enough for her to watch her own breath as it puffed out of her mouth.

"You still remember the spinning attack I showed you, yes?"

"Whirlwind, right?"

"Yes, that's just a name. It won't help you if you only know its name. What is important is that you need to practice your steps. Your feet have to be as fast as your blades in this case. You know how to dance, do you not?"

Samantha was surprised by the sudden question, but she answered honestly, "Yes, I took some lessons."

"Ah, I thought so. It's not unlike dancing, the more you practice, the better you are with your footwork. I'll show you one more time. Now, come at me." He beckoned with a cocky smile.

She nodded then charged, but just when she reached striking distance, Zevran started to spin fast as he twirled both daggers in his hands, leaving no opening for her to strike. Just when he turned away from her and exposed his back, he would whip back rapidly, his daggers danced inches from her body. Had he wished her harm, he would have easily extended his blades a bit closer to her and cut her with multiple slashes. Samantha knew the attack could only go on for so long before one became dizzy from the spinning, yet the short amount of time was enough to effectively clear all the surrounding enemies.

Zevran came to a halt and motioned her with a tilt of his chin. "Now you try."

Samantha recalled the previous lesson and gave it a try. Her steps were clumsy and slow comparing to her mentor's. When she came to a halt, she shook her head in disappointment. Apparently, her mentor agreed. "You need more practice. And a sparring partner."

"Aren't you mine?" Samantha asked without thinking, still feeling a bit queasy from the spin.

The assassin laughed at her poor choice of words. "I could be yours if you wished." His arched an eyebrow suggestively. "But I don't imagine Alistair would be particularly pleased with that arrangement. You two are still together, yes? As of last night, at least?"

Samantha blinked hard, not quite certain if she'd heard him right. "Pardon?"

"I overheard your exertions with Alistair. It's sill ongoing, yes?"

Her face turned bright red as she was rendered speechless by sheer embarrassment.

"I assume so. I have no intention of stepping into another man's territory, unless both of you are willing. But I don't suppose he's the type to share, judging from how touchy he was when all I did was trying to give him some good advice on how to pleasure you-"

"You... what?" Samantha didn't think her face could get even hotter.

Zevran shrugged casually as if he was chatting about the weather. "I was concerned about his well-being. Last night it did seem as if thing just got going when all grew quiet. He is too young to have this sort of problem. So I offered help."

Samantha shook her head in disbelief. She almost hesitated to ask, but curiosity took over as she sheathed her weapons awkwardly. "...And?"

"Hmph, that fellow doesn't know what he needs. He just plugged his fingers in his ears and walked away."

"So that's why he came to me with his face all red, and when I asked him about it, he absolutely refused to say anything..."

"Oh well, his lost. And yours, I suppose. My condolences, my dear." The smile on Zervan face was one with a hint of sympathy, not mockery.

"He's... fine. We're fine."

Zevran laughed in amusement. "Truly? Well, you can't compare when that's nothing to compare to, no? So indulge my curiosity, my dear woman, who started it?"

Samantha chose her words carefully. "Are you asking what I think you are asking?"

"Perhaps. Who initiated your first... entanglement? He'd probably be too nervous to even start it. You did, didn't you?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Aha! I didn't know that chantry boy had it in him."

Somehow, Samantha felt the need to explain Alistair's behavior. "He was schooled in the chantry. That particular topic might be... awkward for him to talk about, more so than for the rest of us."

"Ha! You would think chantry houses all the prudes. But you're wrong. Some of the most risque books were written by chantry brothers and sisters. Such as "The Art of Passionate Love" by Brother Capria."

"Is there really such a book?"

"Why, of course. Banned and prohibited. But it only makes the book even more sought after. As the saying goes: forbidden fruits are always the sweetest."

"The book was written by a priest? And it teaches about..."

"Sex? Yes. It's a form of art, and can easily be taught. Just like learning how wield your blades, you need a good sparring partner, and practice is the key. Instead of learning where to stab your target to make your strike most deadly, you learn where to kiss or to touch to bring the most pleasure to your partner. As with fighting, everyone has their weakness. Or in the case of love making, their weakness is where their most sensitive part of their body is. All you need is to find it and exploit it. And they are yours."

Samantha oddly did _not_ feel uncomfortable about the subject the way he approached it. Zevran spoke as if sex and battle were the two sides of the same coin. Perhaps, to him, they were. Now, she was truly curious. "The 'weakness'..."

Zevran nodded. "Everyone has it. Men and women. You and I. For some, it's on their neck; some, behind their ears. Everyone is a bit different. Explore everywhere with your fingers and your lips. Sometimes they don't even know if you ask them, until you hit the spot, and... You'll know from the noise they make or the way their bodies react when you hit the right spot." A mischievous grin appeared on his handsome face.

"The Crows taught you all these?"

"Ha! Well, some of it, yes. It's the art of seduction they taught us to get us closer to our targets. One is often most vulnerable when one is naked, no? But the rest of what I know, I learned from my experience. Just like fighting, there is only so much I can teach you. I can show you the way to handle your blades, but you have to actually get into battles and refine your skills through real fights."

"... Are you suggesting you are going to teach me the art of... seduction?"

The assassin let out a roaring laughter. "But you are already learning, aren't you, my dear Samantha? It's a useful skill, to be sure, one that benefits not just yourself but your partners. I can teach you the art of seduction anytime anywhere. Perhaps later by the campfire? We should invite Leliana to share her experience." Amber eyes twinkled in delight. "That should be fun. But enough about that for now. Come, let's dance some more before the sun goes down."

Samantha couldn't agree more as she unsheathed her weapons and readied for another round of practice.

Unbeknown to Alistair, he had become the real benefactor of today's lesson.


	26. Darkness Within

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: There are a lot of things going on in this chapter. I was about to split this into two chapters, but chose not to break the continuity. I'm trying to keep the focus of the story as sharp as possible, so quite a lot of things not that relevant to Cousland have been skipped through. But, after this chapter, the story would go more into details as the Landsmeet is about to begin. Thing is going to hit the fan for Cousland and Alistair, and the fun is about to begin for me to write the more intense part of their story. Hope whatever I'm cooking up won't disappoint you.

If you think you've spotted something like an easter egg in this chapter, then let me just say that yes, there are two. If you don't know what I'm talking about after you read this chapter, it's perfectly normal. Don't worry about it, you haven't missed anything. I'm being annoyingly cryptic here, because it might consider spoiler if I spell it out.

A big thank you to all of you who have been reading so far, and a warm welcome to those who have joined us recently. Love hearing from you. Thank you so much for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter Twenty Six: Darkness Within

* * *

The Deep Roads had to be the Samantha's least favorite place she'd ventured during her year long travel through the entire Ferelden. She never thought she would miss the eerily serene and deceptively peaceful Brecilian Forest. She would even rather be crawling in the icy caverns of Andraste's temple ruins right now, and she hated that place last time she was there.

The paths inside the Deep Roads were dark, saved the eerie glow of red hot lava and occasional torches lit up the caverns. The air was still, and it smelled like death. Samantha had been warned about darkspawn in the Deep Roads, but what she couldn't have guessed was the sheer amount of those foul creatures waiting at almost every corner. Her skin wouldn't stop crawling as the taint in her blood kept on alerting her about darkspawn nearby. Thankfully, even though she could sense them, they couldn't smell her because of a pouch of mixed herb given to her by Morrigan. The mage had claimed it was made by Flemeth to help mask the taint. She had been carrying it around her ever since she'd left Flemeth's hut.

Samantha chopped down the last giant spider and groaned in disgust at the goo sticking on her family sword.

"Sam!"

She glanced up at name only one of her companions would use to call her and saw Zevran tossed a rag at her direction. Reflectively, she caught it and glanced questioningly at the assassin.

"Wipe that sexy sword of yours before you sheath it." He tilted his chin towards the Cousland blade as he sheathed his clean daggers. "Lest you would have a hard time polishing it later. Or should I say, Alistair would have a hard time cleaning it."

"I'm glad that my hard work has been recognized," Alistair jested as he joined her side after killing two spiders.

Crawling in this underground endlessly had frayed her nerves, seeing the disgusting goo clinging stubbornly onto her precious blade didn't help her mood either. "You can claim your reward after we leave this Maker forsaken place," Samantha grumbled offhandedly as she cleaned her blade.

Alistair, on the other hand, lit up at her comment. "Oh? Can't wait..."

"What? Don't you claim your reward every night?" asked Zevran with an over-the-top innocent look, which, somehow, looked perverted on him. "Tsk, if there's one thing the whore house teaches us, it's that we should be paid before offering our service."

Alistair turned a shade of pink while Samantha didn't dignify an answer. Instead, she sheathed her weapons and headed into the cave where that deranged dwarf had disappeared into, leaving a still embarrassed Alistair and a very amused Zevran followed at her heels.

The dwarf glared at all the intruders with madness in his eyes. "Go away! This is mine! Only I gets to plunder its riches!"

Samantha stiffed a sigh. Her patience was wearing thin as fatigue overwhelmed her senses. The last thing she wanted was to deal with a crazy man, yet it was a crazy man she had to deal with. "Is this Branka's campsite?"

"It's mine! I'm the one who found it. I drove out the crawlers. Now it's mine!"

She raised both hands, indicating no weapons were drawn. "I'm not here to steal anything, I promise."

The dwarf's attention set solely on her all of a sudden and studied Samantha for the longest time. A grin slowly crept up on his dirty face. "Pretty lady... pretty eyes, pretty hair..." He turned his nose up and sniffed. "Smells like the steam of burning water, eyes blue as the deepest rock..."

Alistair scowled and took a step forward to shield her from the mad man, but Samantha stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"So... the pretty lady won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take Ruck's shiny worms and pretty rocks?"

One of her eyebrow arched in alarm. "So your name is Ruck?" _He is Filda's son?_

"Ruck not pretty name, not pretty like lady. Ruck is small and ugly and twisted."

"... creepy..." Alistair mumbled under his breath, but Samantha was close enough to hear him.

"I have a few questions for you, Ruck," said Samantha rather sweetly. She did not want to take advantage of that poor man, but what choice did she have? At least he was responding to her instead of ranting madly.

"I will answer your questions, pretty lady. Anything you wish."

"Did you find anything unusual at this camp?"

"Bits of things, but only bits. The crawlers took almost everything. They takes things of steel and things of paper. They takes the shinies and the words. They bring to the great nest, the nest they makes for the eggs. They puts the shinies inside, they do."

"How did you survive here?"

"When the dark ones were here, I kept to the shadows. They don't look in the shadows, not if you're quiet. Not if you eat their flesh. Then the dark ones think you're one of them, they leave you alone. But now they're gone."

_Darkspawn._ Samantha's lips pressed into a frown. "Do you know where the 'dark ones' went?"

"I thinks they went south, pretty lady. Far, far to the south. That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice. So much joy when he awoke!"

The two Wardens shared a glance with each other, both alarmed by his words. Someone else beside them could feel the archdemon and actually confirmed it, albeit in his own crazy way. The Blight suddenly felt far more real than it had been for the past year.

"After the dark master awoke, he called his children and they all went. I wanted to go, too, and gaze upon his beauty..."

Samantha was almost too afraid to ask, but she had to find out the answer. "Where is the dark master now? Do you know?"

"He stopped calling. I wish I could go see him, but Ruck, no, no, Ruck – Ruck is a coward."

_So the archdemon isn't here..._ That wasn't an answer she was expecting, yet she was more than glad to find out the archdemon wasn't somewhere underneath the tunnels they were standing on. She's not ready to face that dragon yet. But then, when would she ever be ready?

"I think I met your mother. Is her name Filda?" She wisely changed the subject, to ease her own mind more so than Ruck's.

"N-n-n-no. No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No-no-no-no-"

"Your mother misses you. She asked me to find you."

"Sh-she did not know, not what I did. I was very, very, very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, sh-she would know. Everyone would know. So I came here, instead. Once you eat... once you takes in the darkness... you not miss the light so much." The mad dwarf looked straight at Samantha's face as if staring right into her soul. "You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you."

A chill went up Samantha's spine. Somehow, he could sense the taint inside her blood. Ruck was as tainted as the two Wardens, perhaps even more so. Could she be as mad as him one of these days? That single idea made her want to run out of the cave and far away from the crazy dwarf. The stone walls around her started to cave in and spin ever so slightly. She wanted to run, but she couldn't move her feet.

A hand rested on the small of her back startled her, but she forced herself to calm down as she realized it was only Alistair. She forced a small smile in response to the concern look on his face. The walls stayed where they were and stopped moving.

"You have to tell your mother you're alive," she tried to reason with Ruck.

"No, no, no! She cannot... She remembers a boy, a little boy, with bright eyes and a hammer and she CANNOT SEE THIS! Swear-promise-vow you won't tell!"

"Would you rather she think you're dead?" Yes, she would rather everyone think she's dead if she lost her mind. At least then the Cousland's name would not be tarnished, and Alistair would never see her like that.

"Yes! Yes. T-tell mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again."

Samantha nodded understandingly. She should give him a peace of mind, it was the least she could do for him. "All right. I'll tell her you died bravely."

"Pretty lady is like Mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness."

It was then Zevran stepped forth with a very grim look on his face. "I am not what one would call a sympathetic man, but seeing him like this pains me." His amber eyes landed squarely on Samantha's blue ones. "We should as least put him out of misery."

"What?"

"Is not so bad," Ruck added as though he understood the assassin. "The dark and the burning keeps Ruck warm... warm like Mother's arms-"

Zevran shook his head with a frown. "His mind is gone, and his body will soon follow. I have seen victims of poisoning in better shape."

"Zev!"

"He is no longer who he used to be. If his sanity were intact, he wouldn't want this."

"But..." Samantha knew he was right, but she had already projected too much of herself onto the mad dwarf. She turned to Alistair for support, but the painful expression on her love's face told her all her needed to know: for once, he agreed with Zevran.

"I hate to say it, but leaving him alive is crueler than just killing him. You are not that cruel, Samantha, are you?" Amber eyes burned straight into hers, waiting for an answer than never came. "Then, allow me." With that, the assassin whipped out his dagger and sank it deep inside the dwarf's torso in one single move. Samantha gasped out loud as though the dagger was for her. It was coldly effective. Ruck did not even so much as grunt as he slid off Zevran's dagger and lied dead on the ground.

Zevran methodically cleaned his dagger before sheathing it. As he glanced up and met Samantha's wide eyes, his expression was guarded. Whatever that was going through his mind, Samantha couldn't tell, nor did she truly want to know at that moment. All she knew was what she felt: disbelief. Complete, utter disbelief.

The assassin coolly left the cave as though nothing had happened. Samantha stared blankly at his back until he was out of sight. A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her trance. "Sammy?"

Samantha looked up, speechless.

"Let's get out of here." Alistair took her by her arm and led her out of the cave.

One single question plagued her mind like poison: what would Zevran do if he found out about the taint inside her and Alistair?

* * *

The small campfire they set up provided barely enough light in the Deep Roads. Samantha sat by the fire, quiet and thoughtful. Alistair was sound asleep a few steps behind her, exhausted from a full day journey. Her night watch companion, Zevran, didn't mind the silence. Rather, he was quite amused by it.

"Am I to endure your silence treatment now?"

Samantha didn't answer right away.

"Ah, well. Silence treatment doesn't bother me as much as it would bother Alistair." Zevran shrugged. "I don't mind if you don't speak to me, as long as you let me look at you."

"I was just thinking, Zev."

A corner of his lips twitched up. "You still can't let go of what happened today."

"You killed an innocent man." Her voice was quiet but her accusation was loud and clear.

The smirk on his face vanished in an instant, his expression turned cold. "Perhaps you have gotten too close to me. You've forgotten that I am an assassin, Samantha. I have murdered many; hardly any of them were innocent. And that was the most humane kill I have ever committed."

They sat in silence, although not a comfortable one.

"Death is a release for him," said Zevran eventually.

"Death is an end," Samantha countered. "What am I supposed to tell his poor mother?"

"Tell her her son is dead. That is not a lie."

"But..."

"Would you rather have that poor woman know what happened to her boy? What he had become?"

Samantha didn't answer. She didn't need to. Zevran already could tell from her face that answer was no.

She let out a heavy sigh. "You could have left him alone-"

"And then what? Let his mind slip further and further?" Zevran shook his head. "His mind was long gone, and his body would soon follow. His blood was tainted from eating darkspawn flesh."

_So is mine!_ Samantha wished nothing but to scream that out, but she couldn't. She couldn't be sure if Zevran knew about the Joining ritual. If it was one of the Grey Warden's secrets, she'd be damned if she was the one who leaked it out. Biting her lower lip to keep herself from spill her secret, she forced her attention back onto the flame.

But nothing could get pass the assassin's sharp eyes. Zevran studied her curiously for a moment. "Something else is bothering you. It's not just about that dwarf, is it?"

Startled by his sudden insight, she glanced back at him a bit too sharply, before forcing herself to look away as nonchalantly as she could under his intense gaze. It was all he needed to confirm his suspicion.

"You can tell me, Sam."

"If I was tainted, would you kill me too?" Words flew out before she could stop herself. Was it a momentary weakness due to fatigue from crawling the Deep Roads, or was she that weak all along? Samantha prayed it was the former, for the sake of everyone. As the last two Wardens standing, she simply could _not_ afford to be weak.

If Zevran was surprised by the question, he didn't show. Instead, he looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. "So the rumor about Grey Wardens being tainted is indeed true..."

Samantha couldn't hide her surprise. "Where did you hear it?"

He merely shrugged. "Back in Antiva. The Wardens have such long history, surely you can't be surprised their trade secrets have been leaked out more than once or twice in the past thousand years."

She avoided his gaze and went back to staring at the fire. Her silence was as good as any admission.

"Did they make a feast out of darkspawn meat for all the recruits?"

Samantha's face scrunched in disgust. "They did no such thing." Although the real ritual wasn't much more pleasant than that either.

"So how were you tainted?" Zevran was genuinely curious.

What's the harm of telling him the rest of the tale? "We took a sip of darkspawn blood."

An eyebrow arched in mild surprise. "They poisoned their recruits on purpose? Tsk, tsk... And I thought the Crows were cruel. I suppose they wanted to see which of you was strong enough to survive. Oh, well. At least those who died didn't have to endure years of trainings just to be rejected at the end."

"With the taint in our blood, we can sense the darkspawn. That's how Alistair and I know when darkspawn hoards are nearby."

Zevran regarded the young Warden critically before raising a strange request, "Let me see your hand."

Curious, Samantha let him take her hand in his and watched as he flipped it over to inspect her nails, of all things. He reached out to her neck to feel her pulse, then leaned in and examined her eyes closely, one at a time.

"No physical sign of poisoning," he concluded after his makeshift inspection as he leaned back and relaxed. "You are not mad, are you?"

Samantha stared at him incredulously. "I certainly hope not!"

"Any crazy thoughts?"

"I want to destroy this place and all the darkspawn within, and wipe it off Thedas' map, so I would never have to be back here again." Samantha wasn't entirely joking.

The assassin's full lips curled into a smirk. "Any crazier thoughts?"

She glanced over briefly to check on the man sleeping soundly behind her, wondering if their conversation had woken him. While her other companions had opted to rest further away from the campfire, Alistair had insisted on staying by her side even in his sleep. There was a rare rebellious glint in her eyes when she turned back to answer Zevran's question. "Yes. I want to grab that man behind me and run away forever, to a place where no one can ever find us, and no one knows who we are," she admitted out loud rather freely. For reasons unknown to herself, she had found a confidant in the assassin who had once tried to kill her.

Zevran laughed. "You're not mad, Sam. Madly in love, yes. Insanely mad, no."

"Still, the taint inside me is not unlike Ruck's."

"I killed him not because of his taint, but his madness. To free him from his poisoned mind." Zevran looked straight at her, his demeanor switched to a professional one. "There are different levels of poisoning, even if the source is from the very same poison. The amount of poison inside one's body, as well as how long the poison has been there, all these are have to be taken into consideration. In that dwarf's case, his poisoning was beyond cured; the poison had taken over his mind and his body, the only release was death. Yours is very mild, no symptoms shown at all. You cannot compare yourself with him, my dear." He paused before flashing a handsome grin. "Who knows? Perhaps one day we might even stumble into a cure for your taint, an antidote to your poison."

What Zevran had just said, even though it was in jest, was something Samantha had never even considered. "A... cure?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Every poison has its antidote; it's just a matter of finding it. If someone tells you otherwise, he's either holding out on a cure or he's unaware of its existence. From my experience, with enough gold, there is nothing that cannot be bought – people, information, obscenely obscure recipe for curing blood poison..."

Samantha's blue eyes lit up despite herself.

"And who else has more gold than the king of Ferelden?" Zevran tilted his head at the sleeping form of Alistair. "Besides, I suppose you wouldn't need to sense anymore darkspawn once the Blight's over. Not for the next few hundred of years."

That single idea of a cure, that fantasy, however impossible it might sound, brought a ray of hope to Samantha's otherwise hopelessly doomed future. She had never wanted to be a Grey Warden, she had never asked for the taint in her blood. If only there's a way to remove it from her body, she would not have to die young, nor would she ever feel the darkspawn or see them in her nightmare again. If an antidote truly existed. If she could find it. If the Blight had been settled. If she didn't die before then. There were just too many ifs. For now, such idea was nothing more than a fantasy. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly as she adjusted back to reality.

"Hope is a powerful thing," Zevran commented meaningfully as though he could read her mind. "If you've lost hope, you've lost everything. You might as well just pack your bags and go home."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember I said I have only one last tale to tell you?"

Samantha nodded. "The one you wouldn't tell me."

"It's only fair to let you know now. You see, I've once lost hope."

She looked at him, confused, but chose not to interrupt his tale.

"Let me see, where should I begin..." The expression on Zevran's face softened to a look Samantha had never seen on him. It was both tender and wistful as he dove into his memories and began his tale. "It was my last job before I left Antiva. As all tales go, there is almost always a fair lass. Mine involves an elven one named Rinna..."

* * *

It was yet another day in the Deep Roads, or was it night time? Samantha couldn't tell. Not long ago, she'd awaken from a restless nap on the ground for yet another time. She had lost track of how many days they'd spent in this Maker forsaken hole in the ground. In fact, she was pretty sure she'd lost track of the path back to Orzammar. Had it not been their new companion – a drunken dwarf, no less – to show them the way, Samantha probably would be lost in this endless maze of tunnels. She missed feeling the warm sunlight on her skin, or clear fresh air in her lungs. In fact, she had been underground for so long that she even missed feeling the cold mountain wind cutting on her face.

Samantha grunted as she picked up her pace and followed the dwarf closely, lest she'd lose her way in the tunnels. Her pack and her weapons felt heavier than usual as fatigue had taken a toll on her. Alistair had been rather quiet too, she noticed, ever since their journey into the Deep Roads. Something lurking deep within the ground unsettled both Wardens more so than their companions. The taint they shared, the darkness within, kept them on constant alert without a moment of peace.

Right now as the group descended to yet another level deeper, her Grey Warden sense tingled once more. And this time, it was more than a tingle, it shook and vibrated her to the core. Samantha glanced over to Alistair and found the same disturbed look on his face. Apparently, it was no trick of her mind. Whatever it was, he felt it too.

"Be careful," Samantha warned quietly.

Her companions needed no second warning. At once, all weapons were drawn as they cautiously rounded the corner. But there was no ambush, no darkspawn gathering as they came to what seemed to be a cliff with a huge chasm separating them from their path ahead. A stone bridge in the far distance was the only way across. Still, her sense could not be wrong, not when she wasn't the only one who felt it.

Samantha stepped over to the cliff with Alistair followed closely by her side. She felt something, almost like a calling, as she curiously glanced down at the bottomless pit.

An ear splitting roar thundering from the gorge startled her so much so she landed on her rear. That awful noise sounded too familiar to her, yet it was the first time she had heard it, at least when she's conscious. She'd first heard it in her vision when she took her Joining, then again in her nightmares which she had learned to suppress. Samantha now knew what was hidden in the chasm: the archdemon.

A dragon shot up from the giant crack and flew high towards the cavern's pitch dark ceiling. Alistair let out a gasp and shielded her with his body as the archdemon flew above them before speeding up to the other side of the cliff. Letting out yet another roar, it 'talked' to the hoard of darkspawn gathering at the other side of the bridge almost as if it was a general rallying its troops. Samantha took a peek over Alistair's shoulder and saw the archdemon for the first time with her very own eyes. For a brief moment, she clung onto Alistair and froze hopelessly in fear. They would have to slay that creature to end the Blight, a creature that was larger than anything she'd ever seen. But there was no time for fear to linger, for the darkspawn hoard was now charging across the bridge towards their side of the cliff as the archdemon once again dove back into the chasm and disappeared.

Saying a silent thanks to the Maker for the archdemon's timely departure, Samantha steeled herself and shoved her fear away. "Trouble." She nodded towards the bridge's direction.

With a glance over his shoulder, Alistair sighed wearily as peeled himself away from her and pulled her back on her feet. "When can we ever catch a break?"

Her sigh mirrored his. "Once the Blight is over."

"That's it. Once the Blight is over, we will leave this all behind and disappear."

She couldn't help but smile at that idea. It would seem they shared more than the taint in their blood, or their love for each other, even their secret fantasies were the same. "Where to, my love?" she jested as she readied her weapons.

"To Orlais. Just you and I. In a bed. With a lot of cheese cakes and pies." He grinned at his own fantasy as they approached the bridge.

Such fantasy was tempting, but reality called. Her blue eyes scanned around and assessed the situation. She was more than relieved to find a large group of dwarven warriors at the end of the bridge, standing proud and ready to take down the incoming hoard. "If we survive the Blight, then I'm all yours."

"Oh? Aren't you already mine?" His shield was up and ready despite the flirtation.

Fatigue was gone, her blades were once again light in her hands. However fearsome the archdemon was, Samantha vowed to end the Blight for the man beside her, if not for Ferelden. He deserved a chance to be happy after what he had gone through, and she would see to that even if it was the last thing she ever did. "Always."

* * *

This had to be the most hideous creature she'd ever face. The archdemon was fearsome, but this creature was simply grotesque, to say the least. It was not any type of darkspawn she had faced, but a giant humanoid creature with multiple breasts on its body and tentacles where its feet were supposed to be. But it mattered not what it was, all she had to know was it had to be killed, lest everyone would die.

Samantha brought her sword up and hacked her way through a wall formed by its many tentacles protecting its body. She slashed one of the tentacles, trying to get close enough to stab its torso for a fatal blow. Just when she got close to its torso, a tentacle shot up from the ground and wrapped itself about her body, lifting her off her feet. Samantha screamed and struggled to set herself free, but to no avail. She sank her dagger into the slimy constraint around her waist, yet, somehow, the creature didn't flinch in pain. Instead, it tightened its grip on her.

She felt her ribs crushing, air squeezed out of her lungs. She tried to scream for help, but all she could come up with was a whimper.

It was then Zevran slashed his way through and found her. "Samantha!"

"Can't... breathe..." Samantha pleaded for help.

The assassin arched one eyebrow up. "You shouldn't be breathing. There's poison in your blood, madness in your mind. You are better off dead." Amber eyes suddenly turned as cold as the gem stones they reminded her of. The tip of his dagger pointed directly over her pounding heart. "Seeing you like this pains me, my dear. Let me put you out of misery."

Samantha screamed and struggled but the creature's grip around her only tightened even more.

"Goodbye, Samantha."

Samantha shut her eyes tight reflectively to anticipate the inevitable blow. Her body shook violently and she gasped for air and struggled against the restraint on her torso. But the blow never landed. She shot her eyes open to find out what she was staring straight ahead was not the predatory grin of Zevran, but a very dim stone craved ceiling lit by one single candle in the other side of the room. Her body was freed from the restraint when Alistair, awakened by her sudden and vigorous struggle against him, reflectively lifted his arm up from her waist. Samantha held very still, not quite able to distinguish her nightmare from reality for a few seconds until she heard her name being called.

"... Sammy?" Alistair mumbled, still half asleep but managed to cracked open his eyes to look at the profile of her.

Samantha stared blankly at the ceiling, taking in deep breaths to calm her mind. The sound of his voice guided her back to reality.

"What's wrong?" Now more awake, he shifted and propped himself up to check on her.

She peeled her eyes away from the ceiling to meet his warm hazel ones. His eyebrows knotted in both confusion and concern. "Nothing. Just a nightmare," she mumbled.

"Nightmare, huh? Darkspawn?"

_More like their mother..._ "Not really." She shook her head and forced a tiny curl on her lips. "I'm all right now. Go back to sleep."

But he wasn't convinced. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Shh... Go back to sleep," she repeated gently. "You were so tired you snored the second your head hit the pillow."

"Samantha." There it was again, _that_ tone of his. He was not taking no for an answer. Samantha couldn't help but wonder if he had already learned to use that tone consciously just as he used his puppy face to his advantage.

"I had a nightmare about the brood mother..."

"Ha! I don't blame you for having nightmare about that brood mother. That thing's what nightmares are make of." He shuddered and lied back down.

"... and then Zevran killed me..."

Alistair arched an eyebrow as he rolled to his side to face her. A sarcastic smirk plastered on his face. "So, you've finally come to your senses, haven't you? It doesn't matter how 'charming' he is, Sammy, that elf _is_ an assassin. Killing is what he does."

She pressed her lips tight. It was just a nightmare, she knew; Zevran would not kill her. After all, he did have too many opportunities to do her harm, yet he was nothing but friendly to her. He was even kind enough to teach her some of his skills. Still, her nightmare was fresh on her mind. She could almost see Zevran's cold eyes and predatory smirk.

Alistair's expression softened as he studied her, then steeled with determination as he vowed, "If he so much as to touch you by one strand of hair, I'll kill him."

But she shook her head. "No, that's not it. He killed me because I was losing my mind."

"What?"

"He said I lost my mind because of the taint, and he killed me out of mercy just like he did to Ruck."

"Ru-? … Oh." He fell silent, momentarily lost for words. Samantha didn't blame him for not remembering the mad dwarf right away. It had been more than a few days and too many things had happened in between. A power-crazed paragon was dead, ancient anvil was destroyed, and a new dwarven king was crowned. In retrospect, the incident with Ruck was merely a footnote in the journal.

"I hope I would never lose my mind like him," Samantha commented quietly.

"You only took one sip of the blood during the Joining, didn't you?"

Samantha recalled back to her Joining and nodded. It was just a year ago, but it certainly felt like a lifetime away.

"Well, so did I. He probably consumed more poison than we did. Anyway, if you want proof, Duncan was still very sane, and he told me his time was about to come. His nightmares returned, that was all."

She took a moment to let the reasoning sink in. She wanted to believe him, anything was better than to turn mad. "I guess you're right."

He flashed a smile of relief to see her mind had been somewhat eased. "Think about it... If all Grey Wardens would eventually turn into mindless lunatics, I can't even imagine how dangerous that would be. Having a bunch of crazy old warriors or mages wandering around Thedas, drooling and ranting about the dark ones or what not."

She couldn't quite hid a smile at his attempt to cheer her up. "Perhaps that's why they all go to the Deep Roads for their Calling."

"Maybe. Or maybe they just want to make one last stand against the darkspawn."

"It must be awfully lonely to die alone in the Deep Roads, yet it's something we have to face sooner or later. It almost makes me wish to die in battle before my Calling," she muttered to herself and scowled in disgust.

"Please don't say that."

The conversation she had with Zevran flashed in her mind. She rolled onto her stomach and lifted herself up on her elbows. "What if..." But she couldn't quite bring herself to finish her question. Now that she had time to form the complete sentence in her head, she realized just how ridiculous it sounded.

"What if what?" he asked eventually when she didn't continue her thought. Then, a mischievous smile appeared. "What if the archdemon knocked on our door tomorrow and apologized then went home forever? What if there were other bastard heirs of Maric showed up and I wouldn't have to be king?" Blue eyes rolled slightly at him, but it only encouraged his silliness further. "What if Maric wasn't really my father? Or what if my mother was not a maid? What if she's a mage? Oh, I know, an Orlesian mage! That would explain my obsession with fine cheeses, wouldn't it? The Orlesians are know for their cheeses, aren't they?"

"What if they ran out of cheese in the entire Thedas?" she added to the ridiculousness of their conversation.

"Ouch! Sammeeee! I thought you loved me, how could you be so cruel?" he whined like a little boy.

"You started it!" She wrinkled her nose at his antics, but secretly Samantha wished this silly side of him would never change, at least when he's in front of her. "Seriously, have you ever thought that... what if..." She took a deep breath and blurted out, "what if there's a cure to our taint?"

Alistair stared at her incredulously at first, but there was a spark in his eyes as the thought settled and took form. It was probably the same look she'd given to Zevran when she first heard about that idea. "... I... have never thought about it..." he admitted. "Nor have I heard anything like that."

"Every poison has its antidote," she quoted her mentor.

"... I... suppose..." He shot her a glance. "But wouldn't some of the Wardens have cured their taint if there were such an antidote?"

Samantha shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps they knew the Blight was coming, or at least it was overdue. They still needed the taint to fight the darkspawn. Even if they knew about the cure, they couldn't use it."

"Where did you get that idea all of a sudden?"

She was almost afraid that he would ask. "... Zevran mentioned it."

"Hmph! No wonder it sounds so ridiculous!" Alistair snorted dismissively.

Samantha felt the need to defend her mentor. "Say what you will about Zev, he is a master when it comes to poison."

"Poison? I thought it was sex. Or so he claims." Hazel eyes rolled high then narrowed suspiciously when a thought hit him. "Wait a minute... How did Zevran know about our taint?"

"... I mentioned something, he guessed the rest. He heard some rumors about it in Antiva."

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Wynne knows about the Joining, too. It turns out just about everyone knows, everyone except those of us who had to go through the actual ritual. But still, if there was a cure, wouldn't Duncan know about it? I never heard him mentioning it."

Samantha could have pointed out how Duncan never mentioned much to him to start with, but she didn't. Part of what Zevran had taught her was while it's important to know when to take, it's equally important to know when to give it back. For now, she let him win this small battle. "It never hurts to have hope."

"False hope is what it is," he fired back without missing a beat.

There was a certain truth behind his statement that she couldn't quite argue with. Even the idea of a cure was first brought up as a jest by Zevran. Somehow, that one sparkle of hope got a firm hold onto her mind and took roots. Now that she was out of the Deep Roads, her head cleared once again, that idea began to sound even more ridiculous than ever. The light in her eyes dimmed as hope began to fade.

Alistair let out a sigh as he observed her. "I don't want you to get your hopes up for a cure that doesn't even exist."

"I know... I guess I hate the Deep Roads so much I would cling onto any false hope that would let me avoid my Calling." Her elbows gave in as she flopped down onto the bed, her face buried onto the pillow. "Maker, I despise that place."

"Who doesn't?" He reached out to stroke her hair gently. "But it doesn't have to be done alone, you know. You and I could go together when time comes. If we survived the Blight, that is."

Samantha truly didn't know which situation was more depressing: dying alone in the dark tunnels, or watching the love of her life killed by darkspawn while she's too weak to defend him. Still, she appreciated his sentiment. She lifted her head up and tossed him a glance. "_If_ you still wanted me to be by your side in thirty years."

His teasing smile surfaced. "The question is, would _you_ still want _me_ in thirty years. Who knows? I might be fat and bald by then."

"From what I remember when I last saw King Maric before he was gone, he was still quite handsome for his age. You look like your father. There's nothing for you to worry about."

Teasing smile broadened. "You know, I've noticed one interesting thing. You've called my half-brother and my father handsome, but you never tell me that."

"Because it doesn't matter. I love you not because of how handsome you look."

"Aw, it's not? Damn! Here I thought I had to thank my father for giving me my good look."

"I love you because you are you, and you know that. Stop being silly." She leaned forth to give him a well-deserved peck. "Thank you for talking to me, I feel much better now. Go back to sleep while you still have the bed. Tomorrow night we'll be camping on cold hard ground once again."

"So, you're not going to tell me that I am handsome, are you?" he persisted jokingly.

She could have easily satisfied him by telling him the truth, but where was the fun in that? Their future might be as gloomy and dark as the Deep Roads waiting for them, but there was no stopping them from enjoying the moment. Genuine bliss was rare enough during peacetime, let alone during these darkest days. The Blight and the Deep Roads could wait; right now, the man she loved deserved her full attention. After all, he had earned far more than a peck for all that he had done.

"You really want to hear me say it, don't you?" She propped herself up on an elbow again and leaned over to whisper something in his ear.

His eyebrows shot up as his face flushed in pink. "... You want to... You are not joking, are you?"

She settled herself down once again and pulled the blanket up. "Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps one day you will find out..." The art of fighting with dual weapons was not the only thing Zevran had taught her in the past weeks. With Leliana frequently joined their discussion, Samantha had learned more about men in last few weeks than the past twenty years of her life. "Now, go to sleep."

"Hey! You can't possibly leave me hanging like this after what you've just said!" he whined rather unkingly.

A bait was set, and predictably it was bitten. Now she prolonged the anticipation just a bit longer. Ignoring his reaction, she closed her eyes and turned her back at him. "Goodnight, my love."

"You are one cruel, cruel woman..." he grumbled as he slipped an arm around her waist to pull her close to him. For a peaceful moment, he just held onto her. She would be equally content if she drifted back to sleep in his arm. And she almost did when she felt a soft kiss on her neck, then heard him whispered a question that had been burning in his mind, "So, where can we find this whipped cream thingy you've just mentioned?"

A faint smile played on her lips. If only Alistair knew just how much he had benefited from the time she had been spending with Zevran, his opinions on the assassin might change.

They didn't sleep until much later. And when they eventually did, her nightmare was long forgotten and never returned.


	27. Happily Ever After

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Jinx set up a page for me at her own forum. She's super nice. You can find the link to the forum on my profile page. I'm in a fandom lock-down mode when I write (meaning no fics, no pics, nothing from the fandom at all while the story is still in progress), but I'll stop by there from time to time. Stop by if you have a comment or two, or just want to talk. Or you could always send me an email or PM me if you want to keep things private. Either way, it's always nice to hear from all of you.

Things are starting to heat up. But before that, I'll give you one more chapter with just the two of them. Remember when they were all coy and flirty? Yeah, good times...

* * *

Chapter Twenty Seven: Happily Ever After

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a huge castle. Among all the rooms in her castle, her favorite spot her grandfather's library, for reading was her hobby. As a young girl living inside a castle all her life, it was not surprising that her favorite books were fairy tales; tales that were often about the adventures of a prince and a princess. In those fairy tales, there would always be a battle between the prince and the villain, and the prince would always win. In those fairy tales, the prince and the princess would always live happily ever after in the end, and all would be well.

But life was not a fairy tale. The little girl had grown up to be a young woman, and she was naïve no more. Samantha had seen too much. So many deaths and tragedies around to constantly remind her of the dark time she was living in, grounding her firmly onto the grim reality. Her scars and her bruises, and the pain in her muscles, all telling her that she was not a fair princess, her home was no longer a castle.

Perhaps the Maker took pity on her, He granted her a chance to love a prince, just as all those princesses did in the stories. To complete the tale, He even sent her a villain for her and her prince to fight, obstacles for them to overcome over and over again. Still, life was not a fairy tale. There's no guarantee her prince would win in the end. There's no guarantee they would live happily ever after.

Reality beckoned. Come tomorrow, they would travel to Denerim with Arl Eamon to begin preparation for the Landsmeet, where Alistair would officially challenge the crown. Had she been a fairy tale princess, her prince would be crowned as the beloved king, the villain would be slayed by his mighty sword, and she would be the blushing new queen, living happily every after with her love. But she was not a fairy tale princess. Those princesses had no other duties but to love their princes; Lady Samantha Cousland had.

Once the Blight was settled, her duties as the last surviving Cousland awaited. Samantha would have to reclaim Highever and take over her late father's position as the new teyrna. It was a position she had been trained for almost her whole life – both Samantha and Fergus had, yet it seemed too taunting of a task to even attempt when it landed squarely on her shoulders. How did her father do it? He certain made it seem so easily. Samantha only wished she could ask her father for advice.

Ruling as a teyrna might not easily, but ruling as a king was even harder. Samantha did not envy the pressure Alistair must be feeling. If only there was a way for her to share his burden. Fairy tale prince would become beloved king with no burdens or enemies. But their lives were not fairy tales. Her prince already had an enemy waiting for him in Denerim, and he had not even taken the throne yet.

As for their fairy tale ending, with the Blight and the Landsmeet looming over her like some dark shadows she could never avoid, Samantha finally had no choice but to concede to the fact that happily-ever-after was out of her grasp. It would be inevitable for them to be separated at the end, be it through death or duty. Should they survived the Blight, Ferelden would need him, and Highever would need her. Their time together was coming to an end, she could feel it. She loved him – she _wanted_ him, but what her heart wanted might not be what her mind knew was for the best. Couslands always put their duty first. And her duty lied in Highever, not forever by his side. She closed her eyes to stop a tear from welling.

Still, there was a stubborn spark of hope inside her that refused to die.

She found herself walking toward the well in the courtyard, in her hand lied one copper coin. At this desperate time, she recalled a silly practice she had not done for many years: tossing a coin into a fountain for luck and wish. As mundane as a copper coin was, in this case, it represented hope.

As Zevran had wisely told her, hope was indeed a powerful thing.

"There you are," her prince announced himself as he approached her. "What are you doing out here?"

"My mind is..."

"Exploding?" Alistair provided helpfully. "So is mine. I can't believe Eamon really calls for the Landsmeet. This feels like a dream. We are not in the Fade, are we?" It was then he noticed she was toying something in her palm. "Hm? What do you have there?"

She handed him the copper coin that had been in her hand. "Here."

"Are you going shopping at this hour? With just one copper?" he jested. "All the shops are closed, you know."

"Make a wish and throw the coin into the well. Your wish would come true."

He seemed amused by the instructions. "Where did you get all those crazy ideas?"

"It's an Antivan tradition. It should be tossed in a fountain, but a well would do."

His smile faded. "... Zevran told you that?"

Samantha shook her head. "Oriana did. My brother's wife. She was from Antiva, too."

He was mildly embarrassed by his presumption. "Well... have you tried it?"

She approached the well thoughtfully. "Too many times, when I was much younger."

"Did it work?" He followed her and stopped by the well.

There was a mysterious smile on her face briefly before she answered, "It did, eventually."

"Eventually?" An eyebrow raised with a tiny smirk as he repeated. "All right. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?" He took a breath and said, "I wish-"

"Don't say it," she stopped him. "Make a wish in your heart, but don't say it."

"It's not like you don't already know what I'd wish for, but very well..." He did as he was bid and closed his eyes to make a wish before tossing the coin into the well. A faint splash was heard.

She took out another copper coin to make her own wish, then tossing it in to join his forever at the bottom of the well.

"So, what did you wish for?" asked Alistair.

"I can't tell you, nor should you tell me about your wish."

"Well, you can tell me about the wish that already came true, can't you?"

Her downcast gaze was looking at the simple water well, but in her mind she was seeing a familiar grand fountain back in Highever. "No, you'll laugh at me."

"I promise I won't," he vowed with a chuckle.

Still, she shook her head.

"Sammy, remember the promise we made over there by the dock when all these fighting and craziness just began?" He pointed towards the town direction. "No more secrets between us, remember?"

"You remember that?" A year had gone by, yet that particular day was still fresh in her memory.

"Of course I do! I remember looking at you thinking- Nevermind that," he stopped himself. "Anyway, no more secrets. So, what was it that you wished and came true?"

She considered for a moment, then looked at him with a tender smile. "I wished for a prince."

He had to laugh. "I bet you didn't expect _this_ prince."

"I would never trade you for any other princes in the entire Thedas."

There was a pause before he asked, "Not even Cailan?"

"Cailan?" She glanced up at him rather incredulously, startled by his sudden question. "Why would you even ask me that?"

His excessively innocent puppy face surfaced in defense. "Because... he was the only prince around when you made that wish?" he said very tentatively, as though he was almost afraid to venture into that topic.

Samantha let out a sigh of exasperation. "I knew of many other princes when I made that wish. All of them were from the books I read when I was a child." She saw relief in his eyes as she reached out to touch his cheek gently. "I love _you_, Alistair. Not because you are Cailan's brother, or Maric's son, but because you are you. Even if you're just some nobody, I'd still love you just the same, because I know you. I know who you truly are, and I love that person. I barely knew Cailan, but I know you."

He seemed more than satisfied with her answer. "I know, you can read me like an open book. I can't hide from you, can I?"

"You don't have to."

"Very well then, tell me, what am I thinking right now?"

"You mean beside wanting to take me to bed?" It was an offhand jest, but his grin confirmed her intuition. Yet, she ceased the flirtation before it could go further; there would always be a time and place for that later. Right now, there was something else on both of their minds that was weighing them down. "Are you worried about the Landsmeet?"

A sarcastic smirk curled up on his lips. "What is there to worry about? I'll just waltz in and charm all the snobby nobles with my clever wits and handsome face. And they'll all want me to be their king, right?"

"It works for this noble." She pointed at herself.

He looked at her briefly then chuckled to himself. "Sometimes I forget you are the teyrn's daughter."

"Just sometimes?" she teased him lightly. "Well, sometimes I forget you are going to be king."

"Sometimes I forget about it myself. There are times I wish everyone else would forget about it too."

"Alistair..."

But he shook his head. "It's all right, Sammy. I have time to think about it. If it's something that must be done, I'll do it. Who knows? I might be able to do some good while I'm at it."

There's no amount of words that could describe just how proud Samantha was at this moment. "You will. I am very certain of it. Look at how far you've come in just one year."

"_We_ have come," he corrected her. "I could never have done it by myself. Who knows what would happen if I'd never met you."

_I would have died along with everyone else if Duncan had not been there. _"You and Morrigan would have killed each other before you even reached Lothering. There would be no more Wardens left to fight the Blight."

He grinned at her. "See? I have to thank Duncan for sending you my way."

"And I have to thank him for saving my life. Duncan would be proud of you."

Alistair nodded wistfully. "He would be proud of both of us. I bet he wouldn't believe we raised an army by ourselves. _I_ still can't believe it. It all seems so... unreal."

"Landsmeet should be easy comparing to what we've gone through, then."

"Ha! If I could shield bash all the nobles into submission, sure... I can do that, can't I?"

Sky blue eyes rolled slightly. "My brother would love you to death."

He reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingered on her cheek for a moment. "...We might still find him, you know."

"I know..." Her voice was quiet. "Someone once told me that 'hope is a powerful thing. If you've lost hope, you've lost everything. You might as well just pack your bags and go home.'"

Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment. "I agree. Who said that?"

"Zevran."

He couldn't hide his surprise. "That was... unexpected, from him."

"Don't judge people by how they look or what they seem, my father used to tell me. We all wear a mask of some sort to conceal who we truly are, how we truly feel. Learn to look pass the masks, my love. You'll need it as king."

"Because I'll be surrounded by snobby nobles who all have their own agendas?"

Samantha nodded. "Precisely. Everyone will try to manipulate you for their own benefits. But once you can see through their masks, you'll know whom to trust."

"I trust you. With you by my side, no one would dare to fool me in front of our Lady Cousland."

_If we would still be together..._ Her heart began to sink, but she masked it well with a faint smile.

"So, your father taught you all these?"

She nodded again, her brows knotted tightly. "But it wasn't enough for him. Howe fooled him at the end."

"He will pay. I will see to that personally," he vowed with determination.

"Please... please don't repeat my father's mistake," she pleaded all of a sudden. It had been one of her greatest fears: to lose one more person she loved through treachery. She could shield him from swords and axes, but hidden dagger from behind a friendly face, that she could not protect him from.

"I won't." His smile was a reassuring one, yet she felt anything but.

"Master Aldous said, the throne is the most dangerous place a man can find himself in." She couldn't believe she was telling him that, not when he had just gained confidence to step up to his role. A part of her was appalled by her own words and their implication. Yet, she couldn't stop herself when words came out of her mouth, because, tonight, her mind was in a constant battle with her heart, and it was losing at the moment.

His eyes showed more than a hint of concern for her, yet Alistair still flashed a teasing smile. "Are you trying to talk me down from being king?"

She shook her head slowly. "You are the best choice for Ferelden, I truly believe that..." _Stop it! Stop it!_

"But...?"

She shook her head again, harder this time. Her mind gained an upper hand and suppressed what her heart wanted. She forced a smile for him. "No but."

But he could see right through her. "Sammy, please. No more secrets."

"I don't want to lose you," she blurted out. Her mind lost its grip; her heart was winning.

"I promise I'll be careful- …That's not what you're talking about, is it?" Alistair paused as the meaning of her words sank in. It was a discussion they had before. But now, with an army already gathered, the Landsmeet being just around the corner, everything suddenly seemed too real. The Blight would soon end, he might be crowned king, and she would be back to Highever. Life was not a fairy tale; who were they to have a happy ending when deaths and tragedies were surrounding everyone?

Still, that tiny spark of hope of having a happily-ever-after with her prince refused to die.

"Let's run away. Right now," she whispered. Her eyes searching his with almost a feverish look. "Forget about the Blight, the throne, everything... Just us... Together..." But the momentary lapse of judgment was gone before he could even reply. The sudden passion behind her eyes extinguished, replaced by an undercurrent of sadness as her mind once again won the battle against her heart and suppressed its desire. "But we can't, can we?"

"Sam..."

"It's in our blood – yours and mine. It's who we are, who our fathers were. Our fates were all sealed even before we were born, long before the Joining tainted our blood. We cannot run from it, can we? It's inside us."

He shook his head as he reached out to hold her face with both hands. "We don't have to run away to be together. I'm not giving up on us, no matter what. I love you, and I always will. King or no king, I'll find a way to make this work for us. Trust me." He pulled her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, holding her tight as though she would slip away. "I'll tie you down next to the throne if I must. You're not getting away from me. Not now. Not ever."

She believed him. She truly did. But he had not yet taken the throne, not yet felt the pressure of ruling. And she was not yet needed in Highever, not yet shouldered the responsibility of rebuilding. Under this clear starry night, they were still allowed to be who they really were, but for how much longer?

In the end, it didn't matter. For all she knew, she might perish even before the Blight ended. She buried her face on his shoulder and smiled sadly to herself. At least tonight, she still had him all to herself one more time before the storm hit. Happily-ever-afters only happened in fairy tales. She had found her prince, and they loved each other dearly, what more could she ask for?

If only her life were a fairy tale.


	28. Till We Meet Again

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: How far have we come? I dragged myself through the slow beginning of this story, taking you along for the ride, just to build the foundation for the rest of the story and set the baseline for Cousland's character. Then I planted the seed, and you watched the two incredibly shy main characters predictably drawn close to each other over ten chapters or so. Probably at some point some of you might scream "Kiss him already!", but since both of them were sheltered virgins, things couldn't be rushed. Then, finally their relationship got serious after twenty two chapters of setup. Oh, and they got all three treaties too. But what I am trying to say is, thank you for staying with this story.

Despite being only one year older, both Cousland and Alistair had gone through too much during that time not to grow up. They're no longer the person they were in chapter one or two. From this point forward, the pace will change, the focus will shift. Now, this... this is what I have been waiting for to write for the past few months. With the foundation of their characters and relationship all set, let the drama begin.

I put a list of easter eggs and references up in my profile page just for fun. Check it out if you're bored. As for this chapter, one of Samantha's lines was Princess Ashe's in Final Fantasy XII. Also, there's a Star Trek easter egg. Yes, I managed to sneak Star Trek reference in a Dragon Age story. How geeky of me.

One more thing: Alistair did use the term "hot" in the game, in case you missed that.

* * *

Part IV

* * *

Chapter Twenty Eight: Till We Meet Again

* * *

Traveling with the arl was every bit like Samantha had imagined: horses, big tents, and guards. A lot of guards. It was not unlike traveling with her family, although her mother would have insisted on having a carriage. Samantha was not about to complain traveling without carriages; riding on horse was better than walking any day.

For the past few days on the road from Redcliffe to Denerim, Alistair had the chance to spend quite a bit of time with Eamon. Even though somewhere deep inside her mind, she was counting down the days she had left to spend with Alistair, Samantha wouldn't mind sharing him with the arl. Reconciliation with his foster father was something Alistair had longed for, Samantha was happy he had finally found his closure. Beside, Alistair would need all the support he could get once he sat on the throne, and there was no other bigger supporter for this bastard prince than the arl who raised him.

As for herself, she wasn't idling either. Zevran had kept her occupied almost every break they took. Lately, the assassin was training her to fight blind. She suspected Zevran was having too much fun blindfolding her, then taunting her to attack just when he was out of her reach. Although his method was anything but traditional, Samantha couldn't deny the genius of this training. Fighting blind certainly heightened her other senses, training her to rely on more than just her eyes, and be more aware of enemies out of her direct sight.

"Are you having fun yet?" asked Zevran from her left.

Blindfolded, Samantha spun to the direction of his voice. When she heard his light footsteps, she raised the Cousland blade just in time to block his incoming dagger.

"Good." The assassin paused and shifted his position.

Samantha's ears perked up as she picked up a crack from a broken branch. It was a sound so faint she would have missed it had she not lost eyesight. This time, the Rose's Thorn was up to parry another of Zevran's attack.

"Not bad at all." Her mentor laughed as he once again circled around her. "It's fun being blindfolded, no? You become more sensitive to everything when you can't see anything."

Another attack, another block.

His velvet voice rang around her. "Every sound, every smell, every lightest touch..."

Metal clanged once more as their blades met.

"You should try it in the bedroom sometimes."

"What?" It was all the distraction she needed to be disarmed by Zevran. Her beloved dagger was knocked out of her hand and fell onto the ground.

"Tsk, tsk. Still need to work on your concentration, Sam. Do no let me distract you no matter what I say," Zevran chided with a wag of his finger.

Samantha pulled down the blindfold with her now empty hand, looking more than disappointed in herself.

"Put it back on and try again!" demanded her mentor.

Despite his friendly and casual attitude, Zevran was surprising strict as a teacher. The amount of dedication and discipline he required of her often pushed beyond her limit. But the intensive training was why her skills had vastly improved in the past few months. Her blades swung faster, her steps were quiet, and she now knew exactly where to strike to deliver the deadliest blow.

Even though she might not be as fast as Zevran – nor did she think she would ever be, perhaps now she would stand a chance against the archdemon. To do to end the Blight, to stop the suffering, she was willing do anything. Even if it required her to train in a blindfold after a full day of horseback ride. Even if it meant she would lose the man she loved to the throne. After all, didn't someone wise once say the needs of the many out weight the needs of the few?

Shaking her head to clear any unwanted emotions from her mind, Samantha put the blindfold back on and bended to pick up her dagger, relying only on her memory to locate the discarded weapon. Keen observation was yet another thing Zevran had trained her extensively. When her fingers found the hilt of the Rose's Thorn in her first try, she allowed herself a smile of satisfaction before straightening up once more and declared, "Ready."

* * *

"Ah, Denerim. Home of the pickpockets, the Pearl, and the Wonders of Thedas," Alistair mused as they rode through the city gate.

"Don't forget it's also the home of the best cheesecakes in Ferelden," Samantha reminded him with a sideways glance, effortlessly keeping up with his pace. She knew she could outrace him if she wanted to, but she was not about to showoff her skill, lest he might fall off his horse.

"Aw, now I'm hungry..." he complained jokingly.

"When are you not, my dear?" she took a jab at him with a smile.

No disguises were needed this time for the two Wardens to enter the city, for they were traveling with Arl Eamon. Morning sun shone through the city as the merchants began to gather in the market district, getting ready to start their day yet another time.

Samantha dismounted in one graceful leap when they arrived at the arl's mansion.

"Welcome to my home in Denerim, Samantha," said the arl as he handed his own horse to his knight. "Still remember this place, Alistair?"

Alistair glanced around the front courtyard, a smile slowly appeared on his face. "I haven't been here in years. Nothing has changed."

"The inside has." Eamon led the way in through the courtyard, and headed to a pair of heavy wooden doors held opened by his guards.

"Your Lordship," greeted one of the guards. "The teyrn is waiting for you inside."

Samantha exchanged a glance with Alistair, both were alarmed by the unexpected visit. From the look on the arl's face, so was he. "This is troubling..." Eamon muttered to himself. "Come, we have to face him sooner or later."

When Alistair stood his ground, Samantha turned to him and found his jaws set, his eyes narrowed and glared beyond the entrance to the mansion. No words were needed; she would have to be blind to not see that he was murderous.

She took his hand in hers and felt his fingers tightened around hers, almost painfully so. "Not now, my love. Get him at the Landsmeet," she whispered as she laid her free hand on his arm. "Alistair, look at me, please. Reveal him as the traitor he is in front of everyone at the Landsmeet. Duncan and the Wardens deserve to have their names cleared."

Blazing hazel eyes turned to her pleading blue ones. His grip gradually loosened as he considered her words. Grudgingly, he nodded in agreement.

Samantha let out a secret sigh of relief and followed the arl into the main hall of the estate. Little did she know she was about to forget her very own advice.

"Loghain. This is... an honor, that the regent would find time to greet me personally." The look on Eamon's face was strained, to say the least.

There was a mild sneer in Loghain's face that was not lost to anyone in the room. "How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?"

"The Blight is why I'm here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden _must_ have a king to lead it against the darkspawn."

"Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies."

"The throne belongs to Maric's only living son," declared Samantha.

"Ah, a Cousland. Bryce's youngest." He turned to Eamon. "And here I thought it was only royal bastards you played the nursemaid to, Eamon."

"Well, you're admitting the 'royal' part. That's a start," Alistair mumbled rather loudly.

Ignoring Alistair as if he wasn't worth his attention, Loghain focused only on the arl. "I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne."

"What efforts can there be when you outlaw the Grey Wardens?" asked Samantha incredulously.

"Cailan depended on the Grey Warden's prowess against the darkspawn, and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Stories will not save us."

"Nor will division! We want to end the Blight and restore Ferelden as much as you do," Samantha countered.

"I should put my faith in untried foreign hands? Do you think I'm blind?"

"Untried, perhaps. But not foreign. You and King Maric were once untried as well. You of all the people should know it can be done!"

"You want me to believe the Wardens have nothing to do with the Orlesians?"

"Enough!" Eamon howled. "I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight."

"Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure..." Alistair once again mumbled. As much as she loved him, for once, Samantha wished he would just shut up.

"The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland."

Samantha did not take that threat lightly. "And there is nothing I would not do for my king!"

It was then another man along with a female knight came in to join Loghain in the main hall. Samantha's well-composed poise cracked when she laid eyes on that man. It was a face she had not seen in a year, yet one she would never ever forget. "You!" She pointed an accusing finger at Rendon Howe. "How dare you show your face here!"

The female knight stepped in. "Mind your manners in front of your betters, churl."

Hearing her family's murder being referred to as her better was the last straw that broke this camel's back. She felt anger burning through her vein, and she couldn't stop it. With a fine brow arched high in contempt, her blue eyes turned icy, her voice rang cold and cutting. "'My better'? Do you know who I am? I am the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, the sole survivor of the House of Cousland, the rightful heir to Highever. And I am a Grey Warden. We need not to bow even to the king! We have the right to conscript your master right here and right now if we wanted to!"

"You are just as arrogant as your mother." The smirk on Howe's face made Samantha's blood boil. "The Couslands are dead. The teyrn of Highever belongs to the Howes, and rightfully so."

"You've missed one! I am not dead yet. The teyrn of Highever rightfully belongs to the Couslands as long as I'm still breathing, as it has been for hundreds of years!" Samantha looked straight at Eamon. "I demand blood rights, Your Lordship! This man murdered my family! King Cailan had promised to send troops to reclaim Highever and hang this man in public for justice!"

"You have no rights." Howe snorted dismissively. "Your family surrendered them when I revealed them to be traitors to the king."

"You think you can slander my family to my face?"

"You are either very bold or very stupid to threaten the teyrn before witnesses," warned the knight.

"Don't interrupt me!" Samantha snapped at her with a harsh glare before directing her hatred back to Howe. "If King Cailan knew, then why would he promise to bring _you_ to justice if we were indeed traitors?" Blue eyes cold and hard, bore down to the murderer of her house.

"How dare you accuse the teyrn-" The knight twitched in anger, but her master stopped her.

"Enough, Cauthrien, this is not the time or place."

Loghain narrowed his eyes briefly at Samantha before he turned to leave. The smugness on Howe's face set every fiber of her being on fire. "Maker by my witness: I will claim back Highever, I will cut your throat, and I will enjoy every single second of it!" she seethed in a voice laced with venom.

If looks could kill, Howe would have died a hundred times over before he vanished out of her sight. Alistair reached over to hold her tightly clenched fist. The steadiness of his hand made her realize she had been trembling in pure rage.

Shoving her free hand to push strands of hair off her face, Samantha took a few deep breaths to collect herself. _I am Bryce Cousland's daughter_, she reminded herself repeatedly. Teyrn Cousland would remain calm on the outside no matter how angry he felt. _I am Bryce Cousland's daughter._ Samantha vowed not to let Howe have the pleasure of seeing her lose her poise again.

Eamon surveyed the main hall after the uninvited guests had left. Although the knights and guards remained quiet and pretended not to hear a word of their heated exchange, the arl knew better. "Follow me to my study," he said and led the way.

Alistair let go of her hand only to put his arm around her shoulders and guided her through the hallway. Her fists started to loosen with every deep breath she took, the tremble of her body began to steady. Both the warmth of his body and the support through his touch calmed her mind and her nerves.

Before they entered the study, Alistair pulled her aside and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. For a moment, Samantha just leaned wearily on him, as though all her strength had been drained after the unexpected confrontation. "We'll get him. I promise," he vowed and landed a kiss on her forehead.

Samantha nodded and took one last deep breath before straightening herself. She'd be damned if all it took was one confrontation to rattle her. She was, after all, Bryce Cousland's daughter. Samantha Cousland would not back down until justice was served, especially when her family's honor was on the line. "Let's go, my love. The arl is waiting."

* * *

"Well, that was... bracing," said Arl Eamon once they were in the privacy of his study. "I didn't expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon."

"He knew Sam would be here. He just _had_ to bring Howe along, didn't he?" Alistair snorted.

"Howe killed my family. I can't let him get away with it."

"I would not ask you to, Samantha. But bear in mind that he will be well-protected by his alliance with Loghain," the arl reasoned.

That much she knew. To take Howe down, she would have to get to Loghain first. She had waited for a year for revenge, waiting for a few more months until the Blight was over should not be too hard, especially when she had to take an active role in defeating the archdemon. Bryce Cousland would put the country's affairs before his personal ones, so should Samantha Cousland.

"He always seemed the kind of man who enjoyed kicking stray dogs. I would not have thought Loghain would trust him." Eamon frowned in disappointment.

"Do you know Loghain well?" Every noble knew each other, but seldom were they truly trusted friends.

"My sister married King Maric while he was still in exile. At that time, he and Loghain were inseparable. The wild prince who'd never seen the inside of a castle, and the farmer's son. When Loghain joined Maric's rebels, he was just a rawboned boy. But he got on one knee to swear that he would see Ferelden free or die trying."

That tale had been told to her by Master Aldous countless times. Yet, now standing by Maric's surviving son and hearing it again, Samantha couldn't help but feel history was possibly repeating itself in some way. A wild prince who had never seen the inside of a castle, and his inseparable ally who vowed to save Ferelden or die trying. She would have found the coincidence rather intriguing had she been in a better mood.

"And now he kills Maric's son and steals his throne." At least she knew she would never, ever, kill Alistair's son.

"And conspires with a blood mage to poison me. It is a bitter dose to taste. The Chantry speaks truly about the corruption of power if a man like Loghain could go and do this." Eamon shook his head sadly. "I would never have believed he would do anything but what was best for Ferelden."

"And he embraces my father's murder as his top adviser."

"I admit Rendon Howe has never been my favorite man to deal with. He can be charismatic enough, I suppose, but..." Eamon politely stopped himself.

"What do we do now?" asked Alistair.

"Calling the Landsmeet is only the start. Now we must ensure that every noble there sees Loghain's duplicity. We have no small task ahead of us. We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. Go have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us."

"Oh, fun. Let's go charm the nobles with our wits and silver tongues," Alistair said sarcastically. "That's your specialty, Sammy. Bat your lashes at them and see how many of them you can wrap around your finger."

Samantha shot a mild glare at her love, who shrugged too innocently in return.

"Alistair is right." The arl nodded.

"I am? Wow, that's a change..."

"Your father was well loved by the nobles. Most of them still don't want to believe in Howe's lies. You can use that to your advantage..."

She had to stop any more lies about her father before it continued to spread, and turned the table on Howe. Why not used the Cousland's well-built reputation to her own advantage against the murderer of her family? A Cousland never abandoned her duty, and her duty was to seek revenge. The long-awaited revenge was almost here, so close she could almost taste it. Now, she would only have to wait for just a little while longer, and it would all be over.

"We will talk strategy and lay out our plans for the Landsmeet tomorrow," instructed the arl. "It's still early, go explore the city if you wish. Or get some rest. It had been a long few days on the road."

* * *

The guestrooms in Eamon's estate were quite similar to the ones in his Redcliffe castle. But Samantha was in no mood to appreciate the arlessa's decorating prowess.

"Are you all right?" asked Alistair soon after he closed the door behind him.

"I need a bath after being in the same room with that... _monster_!" Samantha unceremoniously dropped her weapons at the foot of the bed before flopping onto the plush mattress. She let out in a heavy sigh, forcing the air that had been contaminated by that traitor Howe out of her body. "How did you control yourself so well when you saw Loghain again?"

"Well, a very beautiful and wise lady commanded me to," he reminded her. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for beautiful and smart women."

She lifted her head up and shot him a look.

Deflecting her small glare with a grin, he continued his train of thought, "Preferably with big blue eyes and long golden hair. Oh, being the teyrn's daughter doesn't hurt either." He approached the bedside and glanced at her lying form rather appreciatively.

"You could be describing Anora," she commented dryly.

"I... have never thought of that..." He shuddered at the realization and wisely steered back on topic before the thought could be more disturbing. "Look, I want Loghain's head as much as you want Howe's. But that wouldn't do our cause any good, would it? I'd be arrested for murdering the teyrn."

Samantha let out a loud snort. "Murdering the teyrn would not get you arrested, you could even take over all his land without questions. Just look at Howe."

After setting aside his own weapon, Alistair sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand in his. "We'll get them at the Landsmeet in front of everyone. Both of them."

She laced her smaller fingers with his. "I wish I had not lost it..."

"Can't blame you. If Loghain murdered Duncan in front of me, I would have smacked his face with my shield then and there, if not chopped off his head with my sword." Alistair raised an eyebrow as he regarded her anew. "You know, the way you yelled just now... That was..." He paused, searching for a suitable word.

"You can say it. 'Scary'? 'Bitchy'?"

"I was going to say 'hot'." He let out a low whistle and a goofy grin appeared on his face. "That was... hot. To say the least."

"Hot?" She stared at him incredulously almost as though he was crazy. That was the last word she would use to describe her behavior.

"Very much so." He chuckled. "Did you see that woman's face when you shut her up? That was priceless!"

"Hmph. I know that type: blindly loyal, loves to pull rank on just about anyone she thinks is beneath her. Someone needed to put her in her place, or else she'd walk all over you."

"Another lesson from your father?"

"No, from my mother instead. We had a few of those in Highever, and my mother always put them in their place. She had quite the silver tongue that would turn barbed if it suited her."

"I see you have taken after her."

"Me? No, my love." Samantha shook her head with a fond smile at the memories of her mother. "I don't even have one tenth of her fire. My brother used to say we should send Mother to fight the darkspawn. She would just scold them back to their holes."

He laughed. "Guess I'm lucky you are not your mother, then. Lest you'd be scolding me all day for being stupid."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You _know_ you are not stupid. Stop this stupid act in front of me, you can't fool me."

"Oh? Can't fool you, can I?" He feinted disappointment. "You know, instead of scolding, I think you could charm the darkspawn back to their holes if you wanted to." He rested his other hand on her thigh and moved it upward ever so slightly.

She could feel the tickle despite the leather on both her armor and his gloves insulating her skin from his touch. "I'm not _that_ charming. I bet Zev could, that's for sure."

"Is that what you think? He is charming, isn't he?" He deliberately tickled her as his hand moved further up, causing her to squirm. "Maybe we could throw him to a darkspawn horde next time and see if he could work his charm on them?"

"And risk losing my mentor? Perish the thought! I have much to learn from him."

His hand suddenly stopped its track. "With all the time you've spent together, I thought you've learned all the secrets of the Crows by now. What more could you learn from him? Poisoning me in a hundred different ways?" The sarcasm in his tone was undeniable, but underneath it all, Samantha detected more than a hint of bitterness.

She smiled knowingly at him as she grabbed onto his arm to pull him down to her. The familiar weight on top of her was heavier today with his armor still on, but Samantha didn't mind a bit. "Poisoning you?" She tapped the tip of his nose lightly, then traced her finger down to his lips. "Guess again."

Alas, a knock on the door rudely interrupt their little moment. Alistair buried his face down onto her neck and groaned in annoyance.

Any precious minute she could steal with him was a moment she would forever treasure in her mind. Not wanting to let him go just yet, she shifted to roll him on his back and pinned him down under her. His wide eyes showed his surprise, but his tiny grin told her he was not about to complain. She planted a lingering kiss on his lips, one he returned rather eagerly. There was another knock, although this time he did not seem to hear it as he was quite busy tasting her. Then came the third knock. Reluctantly, she broke off the kiss. Smiling at his disappointment, she brushed her lips on his ear and whispered, "Try seducing you."

Lying there breathless, Alistair blinked hard at the surprising revelation. "S-seducing...?"

"We will continue this... discussion later." She sealed her promise with a soft kiss on the side of his neck before pushing herself off him. With her well-composed straight face firmly in place despite the flush on her cheeks, Samantha went to answer the door.

A guard outside greeted her with a polite nod. "The arl wants to see you and the prince in his study, my lady."

"Again?" Curious, Samantha asked, "What is it about, do you know?"

"It's about the queen, my lady. She's been captured."


	29. Uninvited

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: I'm absolutely in love with George R. R. Martin's The Song of Ice and Fire series. There is a very small reference to it in this chapter as a homage. Also, Zevran's line about fee is a small easter egg from Final Fantasy XII.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Nine: Uninvited

* * *

It sounded like a trap, it smelled like a trap, yet it was one trap Samantha had no choice but to walk into. She had to rescue the queen. Samantha couldn't risk Loghain putting the blame of his daughter's kidnap on Alistair. Not when the Landsmeet was just around the corner, and Alistair had yet to establish his own credibility among the gathering nobles. Had Alistair been a well-loved figure she had no doubt he would one day be, Samantha would gladly let the queen rot in her so-called captivity; she had other more urgent matters to attention to, such as the Blight. Alas, at this moment, Alistair was not yet well-known; his support had yet to be established. The last thing she wanted was for him to be infamous among those judgmental nobles.

Samantha had met Anora more times than she would like. On the surface, the Lady Cousland had always maintained a polite and pleasant face in front of the queen, but Samantha never truly liked the older woman. The queen could be charming in front of nobles, to be sure, if it suited her needs. It was how she treated those who were not among the nobility that bothered Samantha so. She did not like the way Anora barked at the servants, nor the way she sneered at the tiniest thing that displeased her, nor the way she would look at everyone as though they were beneath her. So clever and calculated she was with her public image, Anora was well-loved by the people, people who never served under her and saw the other side of the beautiful queen. Samantha had overheard servants gossiped about Anora, comparing her to a tiger or a wolf due to her infamous tantrums whenever her endless demands were not met. However, she had always thought the queen was more like a fox. A beautiful but cunning fox.

And now, the fox needed to be rescued. Samantha was far from naïve enough to believe the queen would give Alistair her support at Landsmeet out of gratitude. Why would Anora give up the power that was actually hers for the past five years, just because someone claimed to be Cailan's half-brother showed up out of nowhere? As young as Samantha might be, she grew up surrounded by nobles. She knew exactly how their world worked, how they games were played – there were no true friends, only alliance in convenience. Howe's betrayal had taught her that much; it was a painful and costly lesson, but also an unforgettable one. Power struggle was an ugly and dangerous game, especially when the stake was at its highest: the throne.

Lounging on a chair by the dining table with a glass of wine in front of him, Zevran called out when Samantha and Alistair passed by the dining room, "Trouble?"

"That's one way of putting it," said Alistair.

"What's wrong?" asked Leliana as she put her own glass down on the table.

A grim frown darkened Samantha's otherwise soft features. "Anora is kidnapped by Howe. We have to rescue her."

Zevran raised an eyebrow at the news. "Isn't she sitting on the throne that's supposed to be yours, Alistair? Now, why would you want to save your enemy?"

"Because if we don't, Loghain could accuse us for the kidnap," Samantha explained.

"Ah. Using his adviser to 'kidnap' his own daughter and put the blame on his enemies? Well played." Zevran nodded appreciatively. "So he forced your hand."

Samantha shook her head. "Anora asked for our help."

"But she is being 'captured' by her father's trusted adviser." Zevran pronounced every word slowly to emphasize his point. "She is in bed with all of them. Surely you can see that, Sam."

"I know Anora, it wouldn't surprise me. But we have no other choice, lest Alistair's name would be tarnished before we could gather any support."

"The game of thrones is an intriguing one, no? Often deadly too," Zevran commented casually. "Make your move wisely, my dear friend Alistair."

Alistair let out an irritated sigh. "What other 'moves' could we possibly make?"

The assassin shrugged. "None in this case. There are times you just have to play with the cards you are dealt with, unless you know how to cheat without getting caught. Still, this smells too much like a setup not to be one. Best be on your guards."

Samantha shook her head. "I don't like it either, Zev. But sometimes the best defense is offense, is it not?"

Zevran laughed in delight. "Lesson well-learned, I see."

"I have a good teacher," Samantha replied with a hint of smile.

The assassin's grin served an interesting contrast to the prince's frown.

"What is your plan?" asked Leliana.

"Anora's maid said we should dress up as guards to infiltrate the mansion," said Samantha.

"No, that wouldn't work." Zevran immediately shook his head. "We don't look like guards."

"I agree." Leliana nodded.

"'We'?" asked Samantha.

"What? You are not keeping me out of your little adventure, are you? Tsk..." The elf wagged a disapproving finger.

"He's right, you need our help. Who is better at infiltration than the two of us?" asked Leliana.

"Not as guards, then what? We can't just walk in waving our weapons." Alistair glanced over at Samantha with a hopeful glint in his eyes. "Can we?"

Yes, bloodbath at Howe's estate would be nice. If she could kill just as many of his men as he had slaughtered hers at Highever, set that place on fire, and leave Howe dying of a fatal wound on the grimly floor of the kitchen as the flame engulfed him... Samantha was mildly horrified by her own secret desire. She kept her lips pressed, for fear her next words would be "let's storm the mansion".

"We don't have to..." A sly smirk appeared on Zevran's face. "We can go in undetected."

Alistair scowled. "What? The Crows have invisible potions now?"

"Sadly we don't have those. I could think of so many ways to use it." Zevran lit up. "Oh, the possibilities!"

"We don't need any potions to stay undetected. There are other ways to blend in. We can go in as maids and servants." Leliana suggested. "The guards would be alarmed to see new faces among their group. But servants come and go, they wouldn't think twice to see new ones, if they even bother to remember the faces and names of the existing servants to start with."

Alistair considered the plan momentarily then chuckled. "I can do that! I guess all those years of hanging around the kitchen in Redcliffe castle finally pays off."

Alas, his smile was wiped off when Samantha bluntly announced, "You are not coming with us."

"What?" Alistair stared at her incredulously, his frown returned. "What do you mean I'm not coming with you?"

Samantha noticed Zevran's eyebrow arched up in interest, but she ignored him for now. "You shouldn't come with me this time-"

"I've been with you every single day for the past year, you never have problems with that." He looked hurt by being left out, but Samantha had to steel herself.

"Not this time. It's dangerous," Samantha replied with a firm shake of her head.

"Then the more reasons why I should go!" His voice raised. There was a rare sharpness to it.

Leliana cleared her throat. "Erm, there are quite a few things need to be taken care of before an infiltration, I should go get ready. So should you, Zevran." She stood up and gave a meaningful look at the assassin.

"So soon?" Zevran didn't bother to hide his disappointment as he was being pulled away from the free show he was watching. With a dramatic sigh, he pushed himself off the cushy chair. "Very well. I'll go pay Cesar a visit. He might not like me much, he likes my gold just fine."

Leliana put a comforting hand on Samantha's shoulder. "Don't worry, Sam, we'll take care of the preparation. We'll see you later tonight."

"Incidentally, what is the going rate of rescuing queens these days?" asked Zevran casually as he was being pushed out of the dining room by Leliana.

Samantha took Leliana's wine glass and downed the remaining drink in one gulp. She would probably need more than that in the next few minutes. Ignoring the look Alistair was giving her, she took her beloved by the arm and dragged him back to the guestroom for some privacy before continuing their heated discussion. "Alistair, please..." She slammed the door shut. "You can't come with us. Zev is right, this smells too much like a trap."

The scowl on his face became harsher; his voice turned serious. "Don't coddle me, Sammy. If it's indeed a trap, you'd need all the help to get you out of there safely. I will _not_ stand by and let you walk right into it."

"You _will_." Samantha snapped back. "Because you are going to be king, Alistair. We cannot risk having you involved in a crime."

"I maybe king someday, but not today! _You_ need me now! Andraste's grace, you're walking right into Howe's mansion! Hello! The Lady Samantha is delivered straight to his door for him to kill as an intruder! Even I can see that. I _have_ to be there with you, Sammy, to keep you safe!"

"I know, Alistair. I _know_! He wants to get rid of my as much as I want to kill him." Samantha let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. "I do want you to be there. I do, more than anything. But I can't ask you to come this time!"

"You _can_. And you _will_!"

"No, I _won't_!" she fired right back without missing a beat. She rested her forehead on her hand, then took a long, shaky breath to calm herself down before she continued, "Alistair, please listen for a moment. There's always a chance that we'd get caught while rescuing Anora. If we got caught, there's nothing even Eamon could do. Should we get caught together, we would play right into Loghain's hands. There will be no more Wardens to fight the Blight. And Ferelden will lose its king. You heard what Loghain said, you are in his way and he is going to take you down by whatever means."

"Loghain might want my head, but Howe wants yours!" Alistair countered. "You expect me to stand by and watch you possibly being taken away from me and do _nothing_? If anything happened to you, I would never EVER forgive myself!"

"Zev will watch my back-"

"Your back won't be the part your 'Zev' will be watching from behind," he cut her off.

"Alistair!"

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't seen the looks he's been giving you." Alistair snorted

Samantha scowled at him. "What in the Maker's name are you talking about?"

His rare temper blazed. "He wants you in his bed, that's what I'm talking about!"

Her eyes widened in both shock and anger. "How could you say that? Never once had he been inappropriate with me! I trust Zevran!"

"Well, sorry if I can't trust someone who once tried to KILL US!" His sharp voice dipped heavily in bitterness.

"If he truly wanted to finish his job, I would not be standing here!"

"That's because he hasn't slept with you yet!"

Blue eyes rolled high in exasperation. "Why would he even want to sleep with me?"

"Go look in the mirror you'll see why! I am a man; I know what men think!" There was a strong conviction in his tone Samantha couldn't ignore. Did he truly believe she would betray him with Zevran?

"Do you not trust me?" The thought of mistrust wounded her deeply, every bit of the pain was reflected clearly on her face. "I love him as a friend, perhaps even a brother, but nothing more!"

A look of guilt flashed across his face, yet he was not about to back down. "Of course I trust you! It's him I don't trust! Especially when I'm not around to protect you!"

So his little tantrum finally made a turn and came back its root cause. Samantha loved him with all her heart, but sometimes, Alistair was impossible to deal with, especially when his temper started to flare. An endless argument was not about to change his stubborn mind, Samantha knew she had to change her tactic to a softer approach and find a way to make him listen.

She paced to the other side of the room, giving both of them much needed space to breath. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him took a few small steps following her. But he eventually stopped himself and stood his ground. Standing by the window, she took a few long breaths to calm her racing heart. The garden outside was beautiful, yet Samantha was in no mood to admire the view. Although she did absently notice the arl did not have any rose bushes in his garden. When was the last time she saw a rose bush? Her mother's rose garden was burned down that night her castle was attacked.

For the longest moment, silence settled icily between the two Wardens. His eyes set on the back of her motionless form, outlined by the cheerful sunlight filtering through the window; hers on the colorful flowers outside the garden. "Remember the rose you gave me?" She broke the silence suddenly with a very soft voice, almost in a whisper.

There was no answer.

Nor did she expect one. But she knew he heard her. Her gaze fixed on the garden outside as she continued, "I still have it in my pack. It's my lucky charm. But you know that, don't you?"

She heard his footsteps approaching slowly. Still, she kept her eyes on the blooming garden. What she saw wasn't any of the flowers out there, but roses from Highever castle. "My mother used to have a rose garden," she recalled wistfully. "Flowers were cut and brought to my room daily. I was so used to seeing them, smelling them everyday, I never appreciated how sweet their scent was. I thought they were the most common flowers in Ferelden. Until... I lost it all... After that, I realized, rose bushes were not that easy to find, especially when destruction followed us every step of the way. I started to wonder if I would ever see another rose again."

"Sammy..."

"And then, one day, you gave me that flower." Her lips curled up into a faint smile as the memory of his bashful face surfaced, replacing the long-lost rose garden inside her head. "It was the most beautiful flower I have ever seen; the best gift I have ever received, because of the meaning behind it. I have my share of rare gifts in my life, some even came all the way from Orlais and Antiva, but nothing compares to that single rose. And nothing ever will."

"My love..."

He hardly ever called her that, she mused absently. "You mean a lot to me, Alistair. More than anything or anyone in the entire Thedas. I will do anything to protect you. Anything. Even if it's something I do not wish to do. For you, I will." She finally turned to face him. As expected, his puppy face was donned, with genuine guilt written all over it. Samantha's heart melted; all was forgiven before he even apologized.

He began to speak, but she put a finger on his lips to quiet him for just a while longer.

"However, we are not just some... regular, normal people who are so crazily in love that we can ignore the entire Thedas. We cannot afford that. You can pretend all you want, but you cannot escape from your name and your blood. Our names, our blood, as well as the taint inside, all come with responsibilities that are solely ours. Sometimes we will have to do things we don't want to do, just because it's right thing to do. I don't want to go to save Anora without you, but I have to, lest we would play right into Loghain's hand. You don't want Zevran to spend so much time with me, I know that. But to end the Blight, I have to be trained, lest I would get stomped by the archdemon." She glanced up at him with a small pout. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Of course not!" He pulled her in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry," he mumbled then kissed the top of her head.

She shook her head. "I would be a hundred times angrier if I were you. If there's a woman who dared to spend so much time with you, I would set her on fire while she was asleep."

He chuckled quietly. "I guess it's a good thing you are the only one who could stand me."

"I wouldn't say it so soon. A handsome young king with witty charm would drive a lot of women crazy. You might need extra guards outside your royal bedchambers."

He pulled back just enough to stare her straight in the eyes. "There would never be another woman."

_Never say never, my love._ She kept her thoughts to herself. Instead, she said, "It would feel strange to turn around and not see you behind me, watching my back. I think I've grown too attached to you for my own good. If you ever deserted me, I would be devastated." Her fingers reached out to caress his cheek softly as she gave him a tender smile.

"You know I would never do that."

_You might not have a choice. _"I do." She continued to smile for him despite a twitch in her gut. "But I cannot put my personal desire above the good of the people. That's not the Cousland's way. My father's ghost would come back and haunt me if I did."

Alistair shook his head vigorously. "I still don't like this. At all." His grip loosened, yet he kept his arms around her, as though shielding her from invisible harm. He did not want to let her go, nor did she want him to let go.

"Neither do I. But it has to be done. I need you to be safe."

"So you want me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, while you go throw yourself in danger." His voice dipped in sarcasm.

"I need you to be safe," she repeated herself more firmly this time. "There has to be a Warden, there has to be a king. For the Blight, for Ferelden. You are both."

"But _you_ are not safe." His arms around her tightened once more to emphasize his point.

"I need you to be my backup plan, Alistair. Eamon admitted he couldn't do a thing if we got caught. Should that happen, find a way to save me, bring Sten and Orghen with you. Nothing would dare to stand in the way of the mighty trio. Watch my back as you always do, albeit from afar this time."

"It would be much easier to watch your back from – oh, I don't know – maybe right _behind_ you."

"Alistair, I love you, you know that..."

A skeptical eyebrow was raised. "How come I sense a 'but' coming?"

There was no 'but', she was not about to drop it just yet. "You are very skilled with your sword. If I were to throw you ten darkspawn, you'd thrash them all into submission, and still come out unharmed."

The intention of her over-the-top mental image worked. He cracked a tiny smile. "I know you love me, Sammy, but that's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think? With ten darkspawn, I'd need your help."

"And I will help you even if you are facing just one," Samantha vowed. "But, I don't intent to fight my way through. You are not too good with sneaking, my love."

He sighed heavily and released his arms around her before he paced around, thinking. Samantha let him take his time to digest. In truth, she would feel rather uncomfortable without him. Alistair had been her anchor earlier - calming her down, giving her strength when she had lost control of herself. Just as he had been her anchor for the past year. Through thick and thin, he had always been there for her, as she had for him. Samantha did not even want to think just how she would react if she had to face the murder of her family again, this time without her beloved prince.

"You don't look like a maid," Alistair commented feebly as he eventually stopped pacing and looked at her. It's probably the only protest he could come up with, one she couldn't argue.

"Maids come in every shapes and sizes. Leliana specializes in blending in, she would help me to look the part."

"You look too pretty and delicate to be one."

"Only in your eyes, my love."

"So you are leaving me out, huh?" He sighed and folded his arms in concede, yet the bitterness in his voice was lingered.

"I truly don't want to, Alistair. But I have to. Sometimes we all have to do things that we don't like..." She reached out to touch the side of his face. "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Do you have to ask?"

She paused momentarily to draw out the suspense before she whispered, "I would feel naked without you around."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Well, you'd better not be naked when I'm not around."

"Is that all you can think of?" She sent him a tiny fake glare and wrinkled her nose at him.

"Oh, I can think of a lot more than just you being naked, trust me..."

She felt her cheeks heated up considerably, but she decided to use his current mindset to her own advantage. Turning your weakness into your strength was yet another lesson she learned from Zevran. After all, all is fair in love and war.

"I'm sorry I can't let you come along this time. I'll make it up to you when I come back," she offered sweetly with a hand laid on his chest, then leaned even closer and whispered, "If you promise to stay put, whatever you are thinking of, I will make it come true..."

She watched with fascination as his last resolve dissolved before her very eyes. "You'd better..." He grudgingly agreed. "Or better yet, you can start making it up to me right now." He reached out to pull her in back his arms, but she was faster. She sidestepped out of his grip and headed for the door. "Hey, where are you going?"

"I'm going to ask Morrigan to join us."

The scowl returned to his face. "Why Morrigan?"

"Who else can I take without raising suspicion? Oghren? Sten?"

"Take Wynne," he suggested.

"After all these days on the road, that poor woman needs her rest."

"And she will have her rest, I'll see to that, after she helps you tomorrow," he said firmly then shook his head. "I don't trust Morrigan."

"Morrigan has been with us for the entire time."

"Maybe because an evil plan has yet to be hatched inside that wicked mind! That witch is tricky, Sammy."

"Alistair..."

"Take Wynne." There it was. His commanding tone was used, consciously or not. He was beginning to sound more like a king each passing day. "You'd need her healing magic in case you burned yourself with a pot of hot tea. I know how clumsy you could be in the kitchen." His voice softened at the end, probably recalling those many times they had raided kitchens of inns and castle across Ferelden for midnight snacks. Those were their secret bonding moments, especially during one particular night at the inn by the lake.

Samantha felt a surge of pride in her heart. Her beloved little pup had grown up nicely into a future king. She smiled proudly at him. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I'll ask Wynne."

"Hey, don't call me that!" Now he whined rather unkingly. He noticed the soft laughter escaped from her lips. "What's so funny?" asked Alistair dubiously.

She tiptoed to plant a loving soft kiss on his lips. "You will make a good king."

Hazel eyes rolled slightly. "You say that now. Wait till later. I'm full of surprises."

"I'll stand by my statement until the day I die. You will make a fine king." There was another peck of pride, but this time, he captured her lips with his and quickly turned the peck into a passionate kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, while his were around her back, pressing her to him. She allowed the kiss to continue for much longer than she should, until her knees started to feel weak. A soft moan escape from her throat; that only encouraged him further. When she felt his hand on the small of her back began to dip further down, she knew she had to stop him. "Not now," she whispered breathlessly when she broke off. She heard him groaned in disappointment. "I have to find Wynne first."

"And then...?" he asked suggestively.

"Let me start making it up to you."

"That's the only good idea you've come up with today." His hand slid its merry way down below the small of her back.

She let his hand continue to wander. Truth be told, she liked his touch too much to stop him just yet. "The day is still young, and we are in Denerim. Don't you think there's something better to do while we are in Denerim?"

"Such as?" His face drew closer, the tip of his nose touched her.

"Finding your true love," she whispered, holding back a mischievous smile.

"But she's right here in my arms." His lips brushed hers teasingly.

She couldn't suppress a shiver creeping up her spine. Judging from the tiny chuckle escaped from his lips, he noticed her reaction to his touch and was rather pleased by it. She wanted to yield to their mutual desire and let him have his way with her right here, right now. Yet, she couldn't shake off this dark cloud hanging inside her head, counting down the days they had left together. There was something else she wanted to do with him, at least once before the storm hit, lest she might never have another chance. She pulled back and smiled sweetly at him. "That's very sweet of you. But I'm talking about your one true love: cheese. More specifically, cheesecakes."

Predictably, his attention was diverted. His eyes lit up at the mention of his obsession. "No more sneaking behind my back, you sneaky minx! You are taking me to the bakery this time."

"And risk losing you to the baker forever? Perish the thought!" She shoved herself away from his embrace and exited the guest room.

He quickly followed her like a loyal pup. "We could lock ourselves in the bakery. You'd still have me, and I'd have the cheesecakes."

She rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation as she hooked her hand onto his arm and walked down the hallway. "Fine. Who am I to stand against the power of true love? I'll take you to the bakery once I've talked to Wynne."

"You know... maybe we should find her later, let her rest. There might not be any more cheesecakes by the time we get to the bakery-" And that earned him a playful light smack on his arm. His mischievous grin quickly turned into an exaggerated whine. "Ow... I jested!"

She gently soothed the spot she had just swatted. "Be nice, and you may get more than cheesecakes by the end of the day."

Samantha released his arm and continued down the hall without him, leaving him to his imagination. She smiled to herself as she heard him hurried to follow. Alistair might be able to disarm her at will with his pup face, but throughout the past few months, she had found ways to balance the power through some of his weaknesses – two in particular. Cheeses being one of them.


	30. Preparation is the Key to Success

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: A short story – a companion piece to this story – is up, called The Rose and the Prince. Chronologically, you could call it chapter 12.5, since it sets between 12 and 13. Link to that one-shot is through the profile page. I had too much fun with that, I might write more companion pieces in the future.

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Preparation is the Key to Success

* * *

The chef in Denerim estate proved to be just as skillful as the one in Redcliffe castle. But Samantha did not have much appetite. The rescue seemed more and more like a trap the longer she thought about it. If it was indeed a trap, she would have to be prepared for the worst. The sun was already setting, she did not have much time left.

Samantha didn't regret spending most of the day with Alistair, far from it. Seeing him beaming in delight when he saw a roll of cheesecakes on display in the bakery was enough to brighten her day that had been severely rotten by the encounter with Howe. For once, the two young Wardens were free to steal a few hours to be themselves, who they truly were when all their guards were down. He was her silly Alistair, and she was his lovely Sammy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Walking hand in hand in the market district without any companions around, aimlessly browsing at each stall, they looked like any other young couples, albeit a well-armed pair. Samantha had not felt so alive for the longest time, nor could she be any happier despite some dark cloud persistently looming inside her head. There was no rescuing mission, no Warden business, just the two of them enjoying a lovely day in each other's company. For the entire afternoon, she was just a normal young woman in the arm of the man she was madly in love with. And she had forgotten how it felt to be normal.

Special moments were always fleeting. Samantha carefully sealed each of them inside her mind, forever preserved them in her memory. She would always remember the way he laughed when he dabbed some whipped cream from her pie onto her nose, the way he stole a kiss from her when he tricked her to look one direction, or the way he used his pup face against her to get what he wanted. Deep down, she knew their days together were counting. Even if both of them survived the Blight, a king and a teyrna would never have the freedom to do all the silly things they did this afternoon, at least not in public.

In the end, it was her freedom and happiness in exchange for the good of people in Ferelden. There had never been times she was not proud to be a Cousland, but lately, there were times she secretly wished she was not one.

Samantha let out a sigh and collected herself. She had to stay focus, time was running out.

Heading to the other side of the mansion where the guest quarters were located, she stopped in front of a close door and knocked.

There was a second delay before a voice called out, "Come in."

Samantha opened the door and found Zevran inspecting a series of daggers lying on the table in his guestroom. Each blade was shorter than her own dagger by half. They were perfect for concealing under clothing, she realized.

"Ooh? You are in the wrong room, woman," Zevran greeted with a tease. "I believe the fellow waiting for you in bed is not as handsome as this one."

Instead of blushing furiously as she would have months ago, Samantha chuckled softly at the jest. "I am not in the wrong room, and you are just the handsome man I am looking for."

To that, Zevran laughed in delight. "Then I am all yours, dear Sam."

"And I am grateful." Samantha sat down on a chair by the table across her dear friend.

"So what can this handsome man do for you?"

Choosing not to answer right away, Samantha pointed at the daggers. "Are these for tomorrow?"

Zevran nodded. "Indeed. We cannot carry weapons, but it doesn't mean we cannot hide them. While Wynne needs no staff to cast her spells, the three of us need to be armed, or else I would feel strangely naked! I normally don't mind being naked, mind you. But not tomorrow. I'd rather be prepared. Just in case."

"Just in case..." she echoed thoughtfully.

"There is one thing you can count on in doing a job: plans always go awry." Zevran flashed a grin. "Come to think of it, that was how we met, no? My mission took a terrible turn!"

"For that, I am glad it did." Samantha smiled at him warmly.

"Well, so am I!" Amber eyes twinkled at her. "Or else you would be dead."

"And I would not have a good friend."

His mischievous grin softened to a rare genuine smile. "Nor would I know what friendship truly means." The moment was fleeting, but Samantha was truly glad to peek underneath the flamboyant mask Zevran always had on. "But, you are not here to reminisce. Something bothering you?"

There was no need to hide from Zevran. "I told you about Howe..."

Zevran nodded, his smile disappeared in an instant. "If you want me to kill him, just say the word."

That invitation was tempting, almost too tempting to resist. Yet Samantha shook her head. "No. He is mine to kill."

"That's my girl!"

"Be it hanging him in public after Landsmeet or killing him in a battle, I have to do it myself."

"Landsmeet?" Zevran snorted. "People in Ferelden have such odd justice system. In Antiva, we just hire the Crows. The solution is much more elegant."

"The system is far from perfect, as my father used to say. That is why I am here." Samantha looked straight at Zevran. "Howe wants me dead. Of that I am certain, especially after what I have said today. If I died, no one would ever dare to challenge his right to be the teyrn, and no one would speak of his crime. You are right, Zev, this has to be a setup. Yet, it is one I have no choice but to get into. Not for just myself, but for Alistair."

Zevran gave her the once over. "So you are willing to walk into the lion's den in the name of love?"

"Howe is no lion, more like a snake." Samantha scowled. "But, yes, for Alistair, I will do it. Even though Anora would never truly support Alistair as king, I need to free her and spoil Loghain's plan to destroy Alistair."

"True, why should she hand over her throne just because her dead husband's half-brother showed up and asked for it nicely?" Zevran glanced at her rather proudly. "I'm glad you are shrewd enough to see through that. And here I thought you were just a love-struck lass."

"A love-struck lass who would stop at nothing to protect the love of her life," Samantha admitted. "If this was indeed a trap, Howe would not be far to make sure that I was truly dead. If I see him again, this time he will not walk away. After all, anything could happen in a battle..." she trailed off, leaving the meaning behind her words hanging in the air.

Zevran chuckled. "See? This is why I like you. Always game for some blood bath!"

"Only if it's done for justice. If I don't kill him, he will kill me. He leaves me no choice." Samantha attempted to justify with a straight face, but a tiny rare smirk twitching at the corner of her lips told another story – she would be more than thrilled to kill Howe. "I need to be prepared, Zev. More than usual."

"We should not train tonight, Sam. It's best to get some rest before a job. Well, rest or some... recreation."

"No, it's not training that I asked. I need more than weapons..." She glanced briefly at the daggers on the table before meeting his eyes. "I need poison."

The assassin roared in laughter. "Now you're talking! Ask and you shall receive!"

Samantha's eyes lit up. "Is not too late for you to brew some for me, I hope? What ingredients do you need?"

"Brew? No..." A mischievous smile spread across his handsome face. "It would take too long to brew what I have in mind for you."

The light in her blue eyes dimmed down. "I see..."

"Giving up on me already? Ah, what did I tell you about hope? Tsk, tsk," chided the assassin jokingly. "Have you forgotten we are in Denerim, my dear Sam? There is nothing you cannot buy in the market district."

Samantha watched as Zevran turned to leave the room. "At this hour? The sun is setting."

Zevran chuckled and winked at her. "The Crows never sleep."

* * *

There was nothing more in the entire Thedas she wanted more than to run the Cousland sword straight into Howe's heart. But it had to wait. Patiently she had waited for a year, waiting just a bit longer until the Blight ended would not kill her. Still, if opportunity presented itself before then, Samantha would gladly settle their score before a proper trial could be set at Landsmeet. A rope around Howe's neck was too fast of a death, too easy of a way for him to pay for what he had done to her. Truth be told, Samantha secretly hoped Howe would be by the front door tomorrow, waiting to kill her, so she would have an excuse to drive a blade right into his heart. Then and perhaps only then would she finally seek the peace she had lost a year ago, and have the chance to see if revenge was indeed as sweet as every story claimed.

Samantha absently wondered if Howe even had a heart as she ran a finger along the flat of the shiny blade. Alistair had done an excellent job keeping her heirloom sword clean and sharp, much better than what she could have done with it herself. She wasn't entire sure when he had taken the position to be her squire, in addition to be her shield, her anchor, and her many other things. It happened so naturally, as it did with everything that had happened between them. From their first kiss to the first time they spent the night together, everything felt just right, as though they were exactly where they were always meant to be: by each other's side.

Inseparable they had become ever since Ostagar, yet tomorrow she would have to be separated from him for the first time since they met, leaving him for a dangerous rescue no less.

It brought her no small amount of relief to know that he would be safe here in the estate, guarded by the finest knights in her absence. After the threat Loghain made about bring Alistair down, her heart had been disquiet. She had not told Alistair about it, nor did she planned to. Such was price to be on the throne, or to participate in a game of the thrones. Loghain might be Alistair's first threat, but definitely not his last. Samantha only wished she could protect him forever. But forever only happened in fairy tales, her life was not one. Instead, she chose the second best and vowed solemnly to herself she would protect him until her very last breath. Whatever it might take.

The reflection of her own eyes on the polished surface of the blade caught her attention; dark circles plagued underneath them showing signs of fatigue from the past few days of traveling. She knew she should sleep, but she couldn't. The unsettling feeling inside her refused to calm down, no matter how many pages of a book she flipped through while she was trying to read to relax her mind earlier that evening. And she could usually find solace in books ever since she was a child. But then, the books she took solace in as a child were fairy tales, the one she was reading not long ago was about Ferelden history. Just what kind of comfort could a sad history lesson bring her when a historical event itself was about to take place, especially when she right was in the center of it?

And how history would remember her, she mused. Or perhaps it would not remember her at all should she perish before the Blight, just as many who had sacrificed their lives were never mentioned in the tales. But one thing she was certain of: Alistair's name would be in the book, either as a bastard prince who tried to usurp the throne and failed, or the rightful heir who came back to claim his birthright and succeeded. Samantha certainly hoped it would be the latter; if history told her one thing about usurper, it was that their head was off as soon as the monarch secured their throne. Big blue eyes in the reflection on the blade winced in pain at that disturbing thought.

Then came a soft knock. Samantha welcomed the distraction as she sheathed her sword and put it back on top of the dresser. The door opened shortly after, and the man she was just thinking about stepped in.

The smile she had could not be sweeter, Alistair was indeed a welcome sight. Just then, she realized why she couldn't sleep: he wasn't here. Even though they had been together for no more than a few months, she had gotten too used to his presence at night. For the past twenty years she had slept alone just fine, and now, after merely a few months with him, she simply couldn't sleep without him. But she had to try, for soon he might no longer be with her every night.

"Your room is next door," she reminded him gently with no real intention of sending him back.

"Can't sleep without you." He closed the door and locked it. Samantha smiled at the shared sentiment without commenting on it. "Why would they even bother to give us two rooms?"

"I asked for it."

Alistair looked confused. "Why? We have been sharing one at Redcliffe. I thought the arl knew about us by now."

"We are not in Redcliffe anymore. We are in Denerim."

"We are?" He gasped dramatically and feinted surprise. "Here I thought we are in Orlais all along!"

"Why, you are absolutely right, my love." Her sarcastic tone could easily match his as she continued on with her jest, "You had the best cheesecakes earlier, did you not? And here I am, in a nightgown, tempting you to take me to bed. Does this not fit the fantasy you have about us in Orlais? This has to be Val Royeaux then, wouldn't you say?"

He laughed as he approached her. "Well, if you put it that way. I guess it doesn't matter if we're in Val Royeaux or Denerim as long as you are here..."

"But it does." She tapped lightly on the tip of his nose. "Here in Denerim, gossips spread like wildfire. Starting from the maids and guards spreading to everyone else in town. You are going to be king, you have to learn to be more discreet."

Alistair snorted. "Discretion probably isn't something that's in my blood. If Maric was discreet, I wouldn't even be born."

Samantha sighed softly. "You are not your father. Don't let his legacy burden you."

"Easy for you to say."

Her gaze dropped, a faint sad smile soon surfaced. It was here in Denerim that reminded her most of who she was: the daughter of the beloved Teyrn Cousland. For most of her life, she had always been told she was her father's daughter. It was almost as though she was expected to _be_ the next Bryce Cousland. But could she?

"I- I didn't mean that-"

"I understand." She waved a hand dismissively. If she were her mother, she would have chewed his head off. "I don't pretend to know the burden that has been placed on you. I only wish to help you however I can."

"And you have, Sam. All this time. But you need to let me help you, too."

She gave him a look. Now she knew the true reason why he was here.

As expected, he said, "Let me join you tomorrow."

"Alistair, you agreed to stay," she reminded him pointedly.

"And I had time to think. The more I think about it, the more I hate it." He shook his head with a frown.

Stiffing a weary sigh, Samantha reasoned patiently, "I need you to stay safe. You are irreplaceable."

"So are you!"

The smile curling up on her lips was bittersweet. "Only to you, not to Ferelden."

Alistair scowl as though that was the most ridiculous things he had heard. "That's not true! Without you, I would not be here."

"Yet, here you are. Ferelden needs you, you _have_ to stay safe." Her soft voice raised slightly, trying to get her point across that thick stubborn head of his.

"And _I_ need _you_, Sam!" he yelled right back.

Samantha shut her eyes and took a deep breath. An argument was the last thing she needed in this sleepless night. Once again, she headed for a softer approach. "I know you do, my love. I need you, too, more than anything. I couldn't even sleep when you're not here."

Almost instantly, his expression softened. "Sammy..."

"But you have your job to do. I have mine."

"Right. Sitting here in the mansion is such an important job. My arse is going to hurt from all the sitting by the end of the day!"

She deflected his sarcasm with calm patience. "You are not going to sit idly, either."

"What do you want me to do? Want me to paint you a picture, perhaps? Write you a poem?" Hazel eyes rolled.

Unfazed by his jabs, her voice remained soft and soothing. "My father always told us: preparation is the key to success. You need to be prepared for the Landsmeet."

"The arl is doing that, isn't he?"

"He can only call for the Landsmeet. In order to be king, you have to get enough votes from the nobles," she instructed her beloved prince. "Stay here, learn as much as you can about the nobles at Landsmeet. You need to win their trust in order to get their votes. Learn the names of their sons and daughters if you can, and their good deeds if they have any. They want a king who know them personally, it makes them feel special. Do that, and with your natural charm, you will gain their trust and support in no time. Read about their feuds with each other, so you can rule fairly in the future." She smiled for him and gently touched the side of his face. "Study hard, before you know it, I will be back."

He took a moment to digest the information, then studied her curiously. "You never told me you knew all these... stuff."

"It was not a skill needed to kill darkspawn. You can't be diplomatic with them, can you?" She merely shrugged. "My father trained us equally, so that I would be ready to take over Highever should the need arise." And the late teyrn's plan indeed paid off well.

"But staying here reading up juicy noble gossips isn't helping _you_."

"Knowing you are safe is. That gives me a peace of mind and free me from distraction."

"Distraction? Is that what I am to you now?" He snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Don't I feel special."

Samantha looked at the grouchy man in front of her and released a sigh she had been holding. Distraction might be just what both of them needed to pass this long night before the mission. After all, he did earn every bit of attention she was about to give him.

"You are indeed a distraction. So, distract me," she demanded all of a sudden.

He frowned mildly in confusion. "What?"

She pushed her nightgown off her shoulders and let it slide off her body into a puddle on the floor. Grouchy look melted into thin air as his eyes immediately lit up and glued to the lovely curves proudly displayed in front of him under the dim candlelight in the room.

"Distract me," she whispered one more time.

While he might not be the smartest man in Ferelden, Alistair did not need to be told thrice. A wide grin spread across his face as he slipped his arms around her waist to pull her close and happily obliged.

* * *

Morning light filtered through the windows and brightened the guest room in Arl Eamon's estate. Dressed in a simple wool dress, Samantha sat in front of the dressing table and watched in the mirror as Leliana worked on her hair. "I really could do it myself, Leli."

"Oh, it's no trouble, Sam." The red-headed woman waved off her concern one more time. "I've always wanted to dress you up. I could only imagine what you used to look like in Highever. Beautiful velvet and silk dresses, yes?"

"Velvet for winter, silk for summer."

"I thought so! Orlesian shoes?" asked Leliana.

"I had a few pairs, yes," Samantha reluctantly admitted. "Some with tapered heels-"

"And pointy toes?" Leliana finished for her and perked up. "Oh, I love those! Those were the most fashionable shoes when I left Orlais."

"They were quite painful." Samantha winced a little.

"But they were gorgeous too, weren't they? That's the price of beauty. It's too bad today our situation today calls for a dress down instead." She gathered Samantha's golden hair in her hand and combed it through one final time before twisting it up in a loose bun. "Have I told you I like the way you wear your hair?"

"My hair?"

"It's long enough for you to wear it in many another styles, yet you choose to keep it simple."

"It's the only way I know how to keep it off my face during battle. I... had help when I was growing up." Samantha smiled in embarrassment.

"Why, of course you did. You must have a lady-in-waiting, no? All those noble ladies in Orlais have at least two at a time." Leliana's nimble fingers expertly secured the golden bun with two long simple hairpins. "The more they have, the higher their status."

"No, I never had a lady-in-waiting. Neither had my mother."

"Really? That's rare." The bard deliberately pull a few strands of hair loose from the bun, making the hair look messy enough as if Samantha had finished a morning worth of chores. "All done!"

Samantha stood up and smoothed the front of her borrowed dress instinctively. The last time she wore her own silk dress was the day she met Duncan in the great hall back at Castle Cousland. And when she stripped it off for the night, the next thing she put on hastily was her custom-made leather armor, the very same one that had been with her ever since. It had been a year since the massacre, but even now thinking back to that night would make her feel nauseating. She could still smell the burning flesh of the dead, hear the scream of the living. She could still see Ser Gilmore desperately pushing back the gate, holding off enemies while she ran; her mother holding onto her father's dying body, buying her time to flee. It all came down to her, everyone's life was given to ensure her own survival. Was she worth all their sacrifices? Her answer was, and would always be, a definite no. But survived she had, and if she could not at the very least avenge all of them, she was not fitted to be a Cousland.

Leliana must have sensed her unease. The bard placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Don't you worry, Sam. Between Zevran and myself, we must have broken into hundreds of places before. We'll get you in and out before lunch," she said with a reassuring smile.

Samantha returned a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The disquiet in her heart only grew stronger since last night. There was only one thing that could calm her down instantly, one person to be more specific: Alistair. Samantha knew she would only need to give him a nod to have him follow her even through the gates of the Dark City. In fact, it was merely an hour ago when she was still half-asleep in his arms when he once again insisted on joining her in the rescue mission. Tempting as it was, especially with the way he whispered his request to her while her mind was still very foggy with sleep, she was proud she had the willpower to turn him down one final time.

"You can come in now!" Leliana suddenly called out toward the close door. Samantha shoot her a curious glance, yet the bard just continued, "I know you have been outside the whole time, Alistair."

Lo an behold, the door opened, and Alistair peeked in sheepishly. "Well, I wasn't here the whole time."

Leliana rolled her eyes at him. "I saw your shadow underneath the door. It's not polite to eavesdrop," she teased him with a mock glare.

"I wasn't eavesdropping!" he protested as he walked in. "I was guarding the door to make sure no one comes in."

"Oh? Good. So you didn't hear that part about Zev and his p..."

"What? You didn't talk about Zev-" He cut himself off all of a sudden.

The predatory grin on the bard's face was enough to draw many shades of pink to his face. "I thought so."

Alistair quickly donned his pup face and looked at Samantha for help. "Sammy..."

But the bard didn't allow her the chance to bail him out. "Next time we talk about dresses and shoes, I'll be sure to invite you to our conversation, Alistair." Leliana then turned to Samantha. "Perhaps we should invite him when we talk about... bedroom techniques next time, don't you think, Sam?"

"Bed- what?"

"Where do you think our sweet Lady Samantha learns the art of seduction?" The bard's voice was seductively low and melodic. "The best of the best knowledge from Orlesian bards and Antivan Crows are passed down to her. You are _such_ a lucky man."

"Leli..." Samantha gave her dear friend a pleading look. Now her face began to burn.

Leliana continued with her merciless teasing, "Are you enjoying the results of our lessons so far, Alistair?"

"Leli, please," Samantha pleaded once more, her face was getting hotter.

Much to the surprise of both women, Alistair took a step towards Samantha and put his arm around her shoulder. "Yes, very much so. Now if you'd excuse us, I would like to spend the next half hour ravishing this beautiful woman for one last time before she goes save the day."

Both women were shocked, but Leliana recovered faster. "Oh my. Our little templar is all grown up... Fascinating..." Giggling to herself, the bard retreated and closed the door behind her. But it was that knowing smile and a tiny wink Leliana gave her that told Samantha one thing: the bard purposely teased both of them to take her mind off the mounting anxiety. And it worked.

Samantha glanced up at Alistair, still shocked by his sudden change in behavior. "What was that about?"

His goofy grin returned as he beamed at her. "You taught me to stand up for myself. And I was doing just that, standing up for myself. And for you."

She laughed in relief as he pulled her in for a hug. "You scared me for a moment. I thought you turned into Zevran."

"Hm. Don't you like me better that way?"

She pulled back from his embrace barely enough to give him a look. "I love _you_. You. You are perfect just the way you are." She wrinkled her nose at him. "If I wanted some version of Zevran, I would have gone for the real one, wouldn't I?"

"And I would have to kill him," he jested then flashed a sly smile. "So, what have they been teaching you? Is there anything else you haven't shown me?"

Her cheeks burned red hot at the sudden question.

"You know, I wasn't entirely joking about the ravishing part." He dipped his head down and whispered in her ear. "We do have some time left, don't we?"

She smacked his chest lightly and pushed herself away, but his strong arms kept her still. "I have to get ready. Zev has some weapons for me. You do want me to come back safely, don't you? So whatever you have in mind, that can wait."

He let out a sigh as he released his arms around her. The flirtatious twinkle in his eyes subsided and turned into a worried gaze. He held her face gently, brushing his fingers on her soft cheeks. For a moment, hazel eyes locked onto sky blue ones, no words were ever needed. At last, he planted a tender kiss on her lips. "Be careful. Come back to me in one piece. Or I'll be very crossed with you."

* * *

Zevran leaned back on a chair in the dining room, popping both feet up on the table, several short daggers lying next to his boots. He twirled one of the daggers around with his nimble fingers in one hand, testing the balance of the new toy he had acquired yesterday. He arched an eyebrow as the two Wardens entered the dining room. "And there's my dear Samantha."

"What's with all these daggers?" asked Alistair.

"Well, she can't possibly conceal her normal weapons under this dress now, can she?" Zevran motioned towards the daggers with a slight tilt of his head. "These we can hide."

Alistair took a closer look at the short blades and frowned in disapproval. "I've seen kitchen knives bigger than these."

"Tsk, tsk. Such skepticism." Zevran wagged a finger at the other man, then pushed himself up from the chair in one smooth motion. "In the right hands, these daggers could be deadlier than your sword."

"So size doesn't matter," Alistair stated dryly.

"Not in this case. It matters on how you use it." The suggestive grin on Zevran's face was enough to tint Alistair's face pink. "Come, my dear, let's get you ready." He beckoned her to step close, and when she was within reach, Zevran took her wrist in one hand and held her arm straight out. "Pull up that sleeve for me, would you?"

Samantha lifted the sleeve up pass her elbow and held her arm straight, as Zevran buckled a holster on her forearm. "One on each arm. There." He finished with one holster, and reached for another one. Samantha's other bare arm was waiting for him dutifully. He buckled the next one just as quickly. "Not to tight, I hope?"

She pulled both sleeves back down and moved her arms around, then shook her head. "It's fine. Thank you."

"Ah, don't thank me just yet. Do you wish to bring that sexy dagger of yours?"

"I thought you said my weapons couldn't be concealed in a dress."

"I found a solution for you. You can bring you dagger, not your sword." Zevran reached for yet another holster from his pile of new equipments and dangled it from his fingers. This time it was a bigger one. His amber eyes traced down to her upper thigh underneath her dress. "You can hide it inside your dress."

"What?" Alistair's reaction was loud enough for the both of them.

Zevran shrugged. "What's a better place to hide a longer dagger than underneath the long dress? Your legs are long enough for the length of your dagger, of that I'm very certain." The grin on Zevran's face served an interesting contrast to Alistair's scowl. "It will not hinder your movements and it'll be within reach should you feel the need of having something more than these shorter daggers."

"Which part of my leg?" she asked.

"Upper thigh."

"Why can't it be just above her boots?" Alistair chimed in.

"Unless you wanted her cover to be blown should she need to climb some stairs and reveal the weapon to unsuspected guards, I'd suggest to have it hidden completely out of sight."

"And how do I reach for it?" asked Samantha.

A chuckle escaped from the elf's full lips. "Why, lift up your dress, of course."

Samantha paused momentarily before answering, "Very well."

"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Sam. It's not so bad. Whoever caught a glimpse under your dress when you reached for your dagger would be killed by you within the next few seconds. No one lives to tell the tale. Now, should I help you with this one as well?" His velvet voice laced with amusement.

"I'll help her." Alistair snatched the holster from the assassin's hand before Samantha could answer.

"I can do it myself." She took it from him with a gentle smile, then turned to pop her right leg up on a chair, and pull the hemline of her dress up to her upper thigh. Alistair protectively moved close to block the view from the assassin, who merely laughed and hid a few short daggers in his own outfit. She buckled the holster onto her thigh, and asked Alistair to retrieve the Rose's Thorn from her room. He didn't leave until she put her leg down and her dress once again smoothed out.

Samantha reached for one of the daggers on the table, but Zevran stopped her. "Be careful. Those are all coated with poison."

Sky blue eyes lit up. "So you found it?" she asked knowingly.

"You doubted me? Shame on you!" Zevran chided jokingly.

"Thank you, Zev." She looked him in the eye with a sincere smile.

To her surprise, he returned her smile with equal sincerity. "For you, anything." Again, the rare moment was gone in the blink of an eye. It took Samantha a few second to understand the sudden change, but when she heard Alistair's rather heavy footsteps approaching, she knew. Zevran must have picked up that sound earlier than she did, but he continued to explain in a professional manner as if nothing had happened, "You can touch the blade with your hand, but once the poison contacts open wounds, the blood in your body will carry the poison to your heart and kill you in a few heartbeats."

"So all I need to kill someone is one slash," Samantha concluded.

His golden blond head bobbed once. "That's right. The poison will wear off after several uses, but I can recoat it again."

"Could you coat my dagger with that poison, too?"

"Why, I thought you'd never ask!"

Samantha took her dagger from Alistair when he came back and handed it to Zevran. The assassin immediately went to work without another word. His flirtatious demeanor now turned deadly calm as he carefully brushed a clear liquid onto the blade.

"What's that?" Alistair asked.

"Poison," Samantha explained. "All I need to kill is one slash."

"And if you cut yourself with that?" Alistair didn't like the sound of that.

"... Then I'll die."

"Not if you have taken the antidote beforehand," Zevran answered as he handed her back the dagger, as well as a tiny vial of liquid. "You wouldn't think the Crows would use such poison if it'd kill their highly-trained assassins just as easily as it'd kill the targets, would you?"

"If it worked as well as you claimed, why didn't you use this poison on us when you tried to kill us?" asked Alistair skeptically.

"Because I was as poor as chantry mouse back then, and this poison is very rare and very expensive. It just so happened Cesar had it when I went to him yesterday. Luck is on our side, my dear Wardens."

Samantha looked at the antidote in her hand and let out a wary sigh. "Let's hope so."


	31. Best Served Cold

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Reference to A Game of Thrones by using that term a few times. This is beta-ed by Jinx1983. Please go to read her new story about Alistair trapped in our real world. You can find a link to her page through my profile.

This chapter took a while to write, hence the slight delay. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter Thirty One: Best Served Cold

* * *

"I'd like to learn more about my target before I meet them, whether they're to be killed or rescued. What do we know about this queen we are about to meet?" asked Zevran casually as the group weaved through the streets of Denerim. Morning light began to warm up the cool air, yet it was still cold enough for Samantha to see her own breath.

With a shrug, Samantha began to state some facts, "Loghain's only daughter, married to Cailan for five years, during that time she was the one who ruled the country."

Leliana chimed in with her more colorful tale, "Queen Anora's beauty is renowned. Slender and beautiful, with long golden hair, big blue eyes. Some say she is the epitome of poise and grace."

"I can't imagine any daughter of Loghain's to be remotely considered beautiful." Zevran asked with a smirk. "Are you sure you are not talking about our Samantha, my dear Leliana?"

"No, she's not our Samantha. I wouldn't wish her fate on Sam." Leliana shook her head. "I've heard a few rumors about Cailan and Empress Celene."

"The Orlesian Empress?" Zevran's amber eyes perked up, intrigued by the gossip. "Oh, do tell."

"It's said that Cailan was close to Celene. There were whispers about Cailan planning to leave Anora to marry Celene."

"Ooh... Interesting! I do love a good royal scandal. Nothing unites two countries better than having their leaders unite in bed first. Pillow talks could certainly make treaty discussions go smoothly, no?" Zevran grinned.

"It's a shame you are not a king, Zev." The bard threw him a sideways glance. "Diplomatic relationships with other countries would never be a problem under your... leadership."

Zevran laughed in delight. "Ah, but I don't want to be king! The constant fear of being a target, and the lack of freedom! Tsk... No amount of gold would make me take that job." He glanced slyly at his lovely red-headed companion. "So, just how did you know all these whispers, my dear woman?"

Leliana's lips curled up in a half smile. "It's my job to know, to listen."

Samantha listened absently as their banter continued. If what Leliana said was indeed true, she wondered if Anora knew about Celene. There were rumors about the late king and his queen, but she treated those rumors as they were: just rumors. When Cailan and Anora got married six years ago, it was as if pages from her fairy tale books came to live. A handsome young king and his beautiful bride celebrated their union in a lavish wedding ceremony, the entire country rejoiced. At the age of fourteen, then young Samantha, along with most of the young ladies in Ferelden, both admired and envied the new queen; they would love to be Anora for one day if it was just to try on her wedding dress.

But illusions and dreams soon faded as time passed by. Anora was no longer the blushing bride, nor was Cailan the ever-loving husband. And young Samantha had grown into a more sensible young woman whose head was no longer in the clouds. As years gone by, the late king had been seen less and less with his queen, and their fairy tale marriage was soon tainted by both infidelity and infertility rumors. If Samantha needed proof that there was no fairy tales in life, she need not look further than the royal couple.

And now, six years after the royal wedding, Anora's handsome king was dead, and Samantha had her very own dashing prince. That was a twist she had never expected. The thought of Alistair brought a smile to her face, one she had to suppress immediately, lest she would look like a fool wandering with a grin on. She wondered if he was studying, as she told him to. Or if he was pacing around the mansion as he often did when he was nervous. Being on a rescue mission without him was as hard for him as it was for her, but it was for the best. Truth be told, she could barely tear herself away from Alistair and get off bed this morning. Between his protective strong arms, his adorable goofy smile, and his tender soft kisses, she had found her Golden City. And her Golden City was waiting impatiently for her to be back to him at the Arl's mansion. Samantha could no longer hold back a sweet smile.

"What are you smiling at?" asked Leliana with a knowing glance.

"Nothing." Samantha pressed her lips together to force a straight face. "Let's get it over with."

Just then, a thought hit her: she was gone for no more than an hour, and she already missed him.

* * *

Sneaking into the mansion through the servant's entrance was easier that Samantha had thought. With disgruntled workers protesting at the front gate, demanding their lost wages, most of the guards were assigned to keep the raging protesters at bay. Samantha followed Anora's handmaiden Erlina through the side entrance, all posing as the new servants replacing the ones who had left without paid. As Leliana had predicted, not a single guard bothered to even look at the newcomers as they walked into the kitchen of the mansion.

Although that soon changed when they passed the dining hall with three drunken guards sitting at one of the long tables. One of the men took notice as they walked by, openly looked over Leliana twice then whistled. "What do we have here?"

"A red-headed and a blonde one? The Teyrn doesn't need to give me a raise. I'll take either one of them," commented another with a chuckle.

Samantha bit her own cheek to keep herself from lashing out at the rudeness of the guards. Zevran took a step in front of her, shielding her from their view. "Hm, I wouldn't touch either one if I were you," said the assassin coolly. "The Teyrn specifically asked for these two to be his… personal maids. I am here to deliver them. Untouched, if you know what I mean. Where can I find him?"

One of the guards snorted. "I didn't know the Teyrn was interested in women."

"He is a man, is he not?" asked Zevran with a eyebrow arched. "What man wouldn't be interested in these two?"

The drunken guards agreed in roaring laughter.

Leliana stepped in with a smile. "Gentlemen, perhaps we could... get to know each other a bit more later on after I have met with the Teyrn. But first, let me get you more wine before I go." The tone of her voice was both sweet and seductive. The bard threw them a subtle wink before walking back into the kitchen. As she walked by Zevran, Samantha noticed the assassin secretly passed a tiny paper pouch onto the bard's hand. The exchange was fast, she would have missed it had she not been standing directly behind Zevran.

"So where is the good Teyrn?" Zevran asked again. "I would hate to keep him waiting."

"Who knows? With the ice queen?"

"Then I shall make haste. My gold can't wait." Zevran dragged Samantha out of the dining hall, and motioned Wynne and Erlina to follow.

"Leli-" Samantha protested in a hush tone.

"Sígueme," Zevran whispered back in Antivan under his breath, knowing full well despite how rusty her Antivan was, Samantha could at least remember more than a few simple words.

And remember she did. Samantha followed him out without another word. Behind her as they exited the dining hall, she heard the drunken guards continued with their comments. "I'll take the red-headed. The blonde one is too frigid."

"Maybe all blondes are frigid, like that ice queen."

It wasn't until they were out in the empty hallway that Zevran stopped and waited. "Don't worry about her. That woman has done this so many times she could do it in her sleep."

Soon enough Leliana joined them. "They all fell asleep from having too much wine," she announced.

"Are you all right?" Samantha asked.

"Why, yes, of course, Sam." The bard smiled at her warmly. "Child's play."

"See? I told you she is good. Now let's go rescue some queen. Can't wait to meet this ice queen in person," Zevran mused.

* * *

The mansion was relatively quiet. The few guards sitting around various rooms paid them no mind as the group followed Erlina to find the queen. The door to Anora's so-called prison was strangely unguarded. Samantha reached for the door handle but was stopped by Zevran. "Could be trapped," warned the assassin. "See if she's even alive in there first."

"Your Majesty?" she called out, reluctantly kept her manners despite how she felt about the older woman. Anora still wore the crown. For now.

"I told you I don't want anything! Tell your master to release me! Now!" demanded the woman from inside the room. Yes, that voice, Samantha recognized it immediately. The steel and curtness behind the feminine tone was unmistakably Anora's.

"It's Samantha Cousland," Samantha responded calmly.

"Samantha! Thank the Maker Erlina found you!"

Of course Erlina had found her, and of course she had no choice but to agree with the rescue. Anora had planned this steps ahead, she knew. Samantha frowned in mild annoyance and pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying anything more than she should.

"I would greet you properly, but this is no time to exchange pleasantries," said the queen rather pleasantly, her tone had changed drastically from just seconds ago. "I'm afraid we've had... a setback."

Samantha breathed out a wary sigh. "What sort of setback?"

"My 'host' was not content with leaving me under heavy guard. He's sealed the door by magic."

Samantha blinked and considered her options before she asked, "Wynne, can you try to unlock it?"

The mage shook her head. "I need to know what spells they have cast first."

"Go find the mage who cast the spell and kill him," ordered the queen. "That should dispel any magic on the door."

Samantha exchanged a glance with Wynne, the elder mage looked disturbed by the order given. "It's true when a mage dies, so goes the spell he casts..." Wynne explained.

"Hurry! Go find them before they find out you are here," urged Anora.

"Do you know where they are?" asked Samantha with her brows tightened. The last thing she needed was complication from the rescue, alas it seemed to head to that particular direction. Zevran was right: plans did go awry.

"No," came Anora's muffed voice through the door after a pause. "He'll most likely be at Howe's side."

Blue eyes narrowed at that name. So her guess was indeed correct: Howe was here. Her fingers twitched to reach for her hidden weapons, but she refrained for now. Samantha glanced at Zevran briefly. The assassin locked his gaze with hers and offered a subtle nod. It was all the encouragement she needed. Trap or no trap, it was time to settle a score, and Zevran would have her back.

"We will go take care of that," she said that more to Zevran than to the queen.

"Thank you, Samantha," said Anora with obvious relief in her voice. "My prayers go with you."

* * *

Samantha led the way through the hallway, looking as though she was as familiar with this place as a maid would. In truth, she was no stranger to the Arl's mansion. The Couslands were often invited to the gatherings at Denerim.

"Down the hall to the left is the Arl of Denerim's private chambers," said Samantha after they passed through the banquet hall.

"You know this place?" asked Zevran.

"I've been here more than a few times," Samantha explained, then offhandedly added, "This is where I first met Alistair years ago."

"Oh?" The bard's eyes lit up.

However, Samantha shook her head. "A tale for another time." She stopped by a intricately carved wooden door at the end of the hallway, and tilted her head to motion inside.

Without another word, Zevran moved up to press his ear on the door. "No movements inside." He stepped back and examined the frame closely for traps before opening it. "Ah, locked. What are the odds?" he mumbled to himself and proceeded to pick the lock.

Samantha reached for the hidden daggers up in her sleeves as a precaution when Zevran quietly opened the door. Just as he had heard, there room was empty.

"Mansions and castles are full of secret passages," Samantha commented as she glanced around.

Leliana headed for the close door at the other side of the room while Zevran took too much interest in the locked chest by the bed. Samantha paid him no mind as he picked the lock, for she was too busy going skimming through documents inside the desk drawers, looking for any evidence to support Loghain's treachery for Landsmeet.

"This door is locked," said Leliana. The bard then scanned for traps before unlocking it.

"What do we have here..." Zevran grinned to himself. He took a stack of papers out of the chest and scanned the first page quickly as his free hand pocketed some treasures. "Ah, the Grey Warden seal..."

Samantha immediately went to the assassin's side and looked at the documents in his hand with a frown of confusion. "Written in code?"

"Secret code used by the Wardens? Don't you know how to decipher it?" asked Zevran.

"... No." Samantha shook her head. She took the documents and flipped through the pages.

"Well, are you a Warden or not?" teased the assassin.

"The only Wardens I've ever met are Duncan and Alistair. Neither mentioned anything about secret code."

"So, if Alistair did not know a thing about the code – which wouldn't surprise me..."

"Then we would never find out what is written in these documents," Samantha finished his thought.

"Ah, even if we had a secret treasure map in our hand, it'd be useless." Zevran shook his head in regret.

"It's done," announced Leliana in a hush tone. "Be careful, I heard some noise behind the door."

Daggers drawn, the bard opened the door as carefully as she could. Yet the rusty hinge squeaked. So much for a quiet entrance.

"What? Who goes there?" shouted a guard who was taken by surprise.

As fast as Zevran was, before he could even silence the guard with his dagger, a pair of arms sneaked out from the prison gate and pulled the guard back onto the metal bars. The next thing they knew, his neck was then promptly snapped with a sick crack.

Samantha exchanged a look with Zevran, whose amber eyes were narrowed with suspicion, mirroring her very own expression. "Enemy of an enemy... But still..." he mumbled under his breath and twirled his daggers, waiting for the prisoner's next move, like a predatory waiting to pounce on its prey.

The prisoner freed himself with the keys on the guard's body. "I thank you for creating such distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for the opportunity."

Samantha's hand tightened around her twin blades.

"You never hear music in the sound of a key turning in a lock until you've been imprisoned," said the man with full beard and long black hair. "I am Riordan. Senior Grey Warden of Jader."

Sky blue eyes widened in surprise, her grips on her weapons loosened. "You are a Warden too?"

"'Too'?" The man named Riordan stepped closer, ignoring the weapons in her hands, and took a good look at Samantha. "Ah. You must be Duncan's last recruit. Lady Cousland, am I correct?"

Once again, Samantha was taken aback. Yet, she kept her manners in check. "Yes... Samantha Cousland."

"Teyrn Bryce's youngest child. You have my condolences."

"... Thank you." Samantha nodded cautiously at the stranger. He seemed to know a lot about her for an Orlesian. "How do you know me?"

"I was born and bred in Highever, but left before you were born. I remember the good teyrn; you have your father's eyes." The faint smile on Riordan's face was oddly warm considered the circumstances. "I found Duncan's recruitment records when I went to Ostagar, your name was the last on his list. Imagine my surprise to see the name Cousland on the records."

Samantha blinked at the mention of the place. This Warden surely was full of surprises. "You went to Ostagar? Is it not full of darkspawn?"

Riordan nodded. "It was. But there was no problem for me to sneak passed the hordes. I recorded a list of the names of the dead I could recognize. But Howe has taken it, presumably now it's in Loghain's hand. Although it would be useless to them, for they cannot decode it without a Warden."

"Are these your records?" She handed the coded documents to the senior Warden.

"Ah, yes. These are indeed. You have my thanks."

Samantha studied the mild-mannered Warden curiously. "How did Howe captured you?"

"With hospitality and a poisoned chalice. I was a fool to think Loghain wouldn't recognize me when Howe invited me to his mansion." Riordan shook his head. "I was sent to scout for information when we received no word from King Cailan as to the outcome at Ostagar. The king had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, then... nothing."

Her eyes lit up, tiny sparks of hope ignited and spread like wild fire. "The Wardens of Orlais are here? How large a force did you bring with you?"

"We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain's edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when rumor reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. We finally decided it was safest to send someone alone, to learn how best to fight the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Fereldan, I volunteered to make the crossing."

Fine brows knitted in frustration. "But the Archdemon is nearly here! I saw it myself when I was in the Deep Roads. Will we have no help?"

"Not until the edict is lifted. The other Wardens won't risk their strength fighting Ferelden's civil war. If they spent themselves against Loghain, there is truly no hope. They recall accounts of the first Blight, how many cities fell. If Ferelden is too foolish to save itself, at least we'll be ready when the Archdemon leads its forces further," explained Riordan.

Alistair had to secure the throne and stop a civil war before he could even lead the fight in attempt to end the Blight, all while racing against time, hoping it would still be a country to save by the time they faced the Archdemon. Meanwhile, two hundred Wardens were just across the border, all ready to face the Archdemon should Ferelden fall.

Should Ferelden fall.

Could Loghain be so mad that he refused to see the real threat to the country he loved so much? The light in her blue eyes dimmed as she shut them close and let out a wary sigh.

Perhaps the older Warden saw her disappointment and felt sorry for her, Riordan offered a friendly smile and lightened his tone. "I hear you haven't been doing badly at raising an army yourself."

Samantha shook her head. "Alistair will lead as king, I am merely helping him."

"Ah, yes. Alistair... I've heard. Thank the Maker he survived. I was at his Joining. Where is he?"

"Safe. At Arl Eamon's estate." Samantha allowed herself a small smile of relief. "You should go there, too. Alistair will be thrilled to know there is another Warden. We will need all the guidance, Maker knows how little we know about the Archdemon... But first, your wounds need to be tended to before you can make it out safely." She then turned to Wynne. "Wynne, could you please heal Riordan?"

"Of course," said the mage before casting one of her healing spells.

"Thank you." The senior Warden nodded and then went to retrieve the gears on the dead guard.

Perhaps the Maker took pity on those two surviving Wardens and sent them a much-needed guiding light to fight the Blight. With two hundred more Wardens along the Orlesian border, all waiting for the civil war to stop before they would lend a hand to fight the Blight on her home country, the stakes had become higher. If Alistair won the Landsmeet, he would not only lead the army they had already gathered, but there would be additional help from Orlais waiting at his disposal. But if he lost... Samantha pushed that unpleasant thought away and focused on her task at hand.

"Have you seen Howe?" Samantha asked the senior Warden.

"I saw him going into the dungeons. He may still be there."

Samantha nodded. "Thank you. I have a score to settle. I will see you back at Arl Eamon's."

"At Arl Eamon's then. Good luck... Sister."

* * *

The dungeons underneath the Arl's mansion was like any other dungeons Samantha had the pleasure to crawl through in the past year; it was cold and humid.

"Why do villains always like to hide in dungeons?" commented Zevran as they descended further underground. "For once, I would like to have a fight in a warm and hospitable place, like a brothel or a bath house, where there are naked people having orgies in the background for us to join in after our fight. Is that too much to ask?"

"You can have as many orgies as you want, Zev, as soon as we get out of here," said Leliana.

"Oh? Is that an offer?" The assassin's eyebrow waggled suggestively.

"Hmph, in your dreams," chided the bard.

"Then I shall see you in my naughty dreams," countered Zevran with a chuckle.

Samantha wondered if she was the only one on edge. Wynne was as quiet and calm as ever, and both the bard and the assassin seemed so at ease as if they were taking a stroll by the lake, bantering flirtatiously. With only two small daggers in her hands, her beloved armor and sword both absent, Samantha felt almost naked, as though part of her was missing. She tried not to think of the real reason for her uneasiness: her missing knight in shining armor. Alistair was safe at Arl Eamon's mansion, that thought alone should put her mind at ease, should it not? Yet, the disquiet in her heart refused to settle.

Just then, horrible screams of pain penetrated through a thick wooden door a few steps ahead of her. She shoved aside her restlessness and glanced over to Zevran in alarm. The assassin's flirtatious demeanor instantly turned serious as he readied his daggers and joined her. With one more look exchanged, the master and his student agreed on the next move.

"Protect Wynne," Samantha whispered to Leliana before nodding at Zevran.

Leliana's daggers were drawn, Wynne's spell ready, as Zevran flung opened the door and charged in along with Samantha. Spell flew past them, momentarily stunned the enemies before the pair reached striking distance. Four short blades sent flying in fury at the four guards.

"Behind me!" Zevran shouted.

Samantha immediately shifted her position. Back to back, the blonde pair fended off the heavily armed guards, who had recovered from the spell and swung their swords at them. Alas, their short daggers were not enough to penetrate the armors, nor did the blades have the reach of a long sword. _Weakness, search for weakness! _she mentally reminded herself as she dodged one sword then quickly slapped another away with her dagger. The last attack nearly hit her face; it was too close for comfort. She had to think, and she had to think fast.

As if reading her mind, Zevran suddenly yelled once more, "The neck and face!"

That four simple words were all she needed. Samantha shifted her daggers to have the blades hit higher at the guards, scoring one slash at the face of one guard through the opening of his helm, and a cut at the side of another guard's neck. Blocking their incoming attacks with her daggers after making those seemingly non-fatal hits, Samantha counted up to five. And just as Zevran had promised, both guards dropped down on the floor as the poison reached their hearts, gasping for one last breath of air before both became motionless.

From the sound behind her, Zevran had also taken down the two guards on his side.

Samantha spun around to confirm the deaths.

"Works like a charm," commented Zevran coolly with a smirk.

Her attention was diverted when she heard a call for help in the other side of the room. Samantha walked into the back room and saw a man tied on what must have been a torture rack.

"Was this supposed to be a lesson? Did my father think it funny to leave me for so long before sending you?" whined the tied up young man.

Samantha glanced at the man's face, he looked oddly familiar.

"Unless your father's Arl Eamon, he didn't send us," quipped Zevran as he freed the man from the restraints. "But I suppose there will be a reward, regardless?"

"Of course. I am Oswyn, son of Bann Sighard," said the young man indignantly.

"Of the Dragon's Peak Bannorn," Samantha finished out loud to herself. No wonder that man looked familiar, she had seen him more than a few times in the past.

Oswyn turned his attention to the blonde woman. "By the Maker! Lady Samantha? Is that you?"

Samantha nodded crisply. "It's been a long time. Why are you captured?"

Oswyn began to explain, "One soldier returning from Ostagar was my wet nurse's son. We have been friends since birth. He told me his unit was ordered to turn their backs on Cailan at Ostagar... _before_ the darkspawn overwhelmed him."

Samantha's blood ran cold with the new information, everything began to fall into place inside her head. She could see why Loghain would want the Wardens dead if he strongly believed they were just a ploy for Orlesian invasion. But why would he want to kill Cailan? Cailan was not only the king, but the husband of his own daughter. The wheels inside her head turned and refused to stop, yet she remained quiet and let Oswyn finish his tale.

"The next day, he disappeared. When I went to search for him... I accepted a drink from a stranger and ended up here."

Samantha shook her head in disgust. "Loghain grows more ruthless the closer the Landsmeet draws."

"Then there is a Landsmeet after all? Howe said the Arl of Redcliffe was dead, and the Landsmeet called off."

"Howe lied." She snorted with a scowl. "Loghain tried to poison Arl Eamon but failed. Eamon has called for the Landsmeet."

"It wouldn't surprise me anymore, not after what they have done to me." Oswyn shook his head and showed her his severely injured hands. "If my father sent no one after me, I can only assume that he does not yet know the true colors of the snakes he has allied with. My father will know of this, I swear. If there be any forum to speak out against Loghain, my father will be there."

"Then please ask him to spread the words of Loghain's treachery and lend his support to the rightful king Alistair at the Landsmeet." Those words floated out of her mouth rather sincerely and naturally. Perhaps Alistair was right, it was indeed her specialty to "charm" others. But Samantha would rather think of it as being diplomatic.

"Maric's bastard? Your friend's claim to the throne is the greatest threat to Loghain's regime. It's hard to imagine anyone has the power to take down Loghain. But you have our support, Lady Samantha. And my heartfelt gratitude and the gratitude of the entire Dragon's Peak Bannorn."

Samantha watched as the injured man fled the dungeons after being on the receiving end of Wynne's healing spell. Spreading words about Loghain would not work directly against him in the Landsmeet, she would still need solid proof of his treachery to bring him down officially.

Yet seeds of doubt were often more powerful that they were given credits for, especially among the nobles. Being suspicious was their nature, whispering gossips was their entertainment. While using their vice for her own gain might not be the most honorable approach to win this game of thrones, Samantha was not naïve enough to think a few proof of Loghain's wrong doings would be enough to win everyone's heart at the Landsmeet and dethrone the Mac Tirs, not when Loghain's reputation had been long established before either Alistair or Samantha was born. Those who were under Loghain's banner would need to sense the momentum swinging away from their Teyrn before they would bother to open their eyes to see Loghain's true color. But once they sensed the tide was turning, those self-serving nobles would not hesitate to jump to the winning side in a blink of an eye to ensure their own survival and prosperity, of that Samantha had no doubt.

If she had to be as cunning as Anora to give Alistair an edge to win the throne, so be it. While Samantha did not have Anora's experience, her determination to win the game of thrones was just as strong as the queen's. To Anora, losing meant losing her crown. To Samantha, losing meant losing the man she loved more than life itself. For if Alistair lost in the Landsmeet, in her heart of hearts, she knew Anora would never be merciful enough to let him keep his head.

And she would do anything to protect him.

Anything.

* * *

The rest of the dungeon was empty. At last, there was only one more close door left at the end of the dark hallway. Howe had to be behind it. Samantha's hands began to tremble as she approached the door. Her heart pounded inside her chest and her palms had started to sweat. Samantha reached under her dress and unsheathed the Rose's Thorn. Zevran stopped by her side but made no comment on what he had just had a glimpse of. With her fingers wrapped around the familiar hilt, the accustomed weight of her beloved dagger began to calm her frayed nerves.

Zevran flashed a casual grin at her. "Let's get the monster and take that queen home, my dear Sam. Don't let Alistair wait for too long. Lest the fellow would sneak to the Pearl in your absence."

Samantha knew he mentioned Alistair's name to settle her nerves, to give her something to look forward to. And it did work. That ridiculous mental image of her silly Alistair sneaking into a brothel made her crack a smile despite herself. Tensions melted from within her gut. "He is not you, Zev."

"Oh, well. There is only room for one Zevran." He winked slyly at her. "Your Alistair is probably wearing off the rug by pacing around as we speak. No doubt he would soon wear a hole on the Arl's stone floor if we don't return soon. Let's make haste, shall we?"

"Let's..." Samantha eyed the door that stood between her and the murderer of her entire family.

"Ready?" asked Zevran meaningfully. She knew he meant not only the physical preparation, but also the mental one. The assassin had taught her both were equally as important in a battle.

Samantha cleared her head, pushing all other thoughts and feelings aside, then sharpened her focus on one task and one task alone: killing Howe. She nodded once.

The assassin checked for traps before unlocking the door with his nimble fingers. Locking his gaze one final time with his dear friend, Zevran flung open the door.

Rendon Howe glanced up at the intrusion. He was surprised momentarily but quickly recovered.

"Well, look here. Bryce Cousland's precious little girl, all grown up and playing with the Crow now. What would your father think?" Howe smirked at Samantha's sudden appearance. "I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here. But then I never thought you'd live, either."

"You are the one who should be worried about what my father would think. After all, it was you who betrayed him." Her voice sounded flat and detached to her own ears, effectively masking the fire running through her veins right now. She had vowed not to let Howe have the pleasure to see her losing control, and she would be damned if she couldn't keep that simple promise to herself.

"Is this about your family? Still? But I have done so much more than wipe your name from Ferelden memory. And what's left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You're the last of nothing. This is pointless. You've lost."

"Am I nothing? Do you truly think so?" The fire she managed to keep from her voice manifested itself through her eyes. "I know your game. No shadows, no lies. No Landsmeet, no Loghain. Just the two of us."

"There it is. Right there!" He pointed right at her accusingly. "That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back."

A rare smirk on curled up on Samantha's full lips. "And this Cousland will continue our tradition of holding you back."

"It would appear that you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud."

_Yes, he would._ The mask on Samantha's face refused to slip even with the continuous mentions of her beloved father. She remained still, stubbornly refused to show a hint of anger, despite the burning anger boiling violently inside her.

"I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."

"Oh, I know. I know..." Sky blue eyes blazed as the corner of her lips twitched up a notch. "But not as much as I want you dead!"

Without warning, she threw one of the short daggers at Howe's directly, buying her time to charge at him with the Rose's Thorn. "Leli, Zev, the mages!" Samantha barked her orders through the uprising chaos. She noticed with dismay that her flying dagger only glazed the leather armor of Howe's. No matter, she told herself. She would finish him one way or another.

Howe's axe swung at her, Samantha dodged, then parried with the Rose's Thorn. The length of her dress was hindering her movements, and its wool fabric provided no protection. But it mattered not to her. Armored or not armored, only one of them would be left standing, and Samantha fully intended to be the survivor.

The axe once again swung at her, she spun out of its way, thrusting the Rose's Thorn at an opening. The tip of her dagger nicked Howe's leather armor, almost piercing through, but his own off-handed dagger slapped hers away before it would do more damage. Samantha knew she had to be even faster if she wanted to win. Axe came down furiously, meeting her blade once more. Metal clang loudly, again and again. While Howe had the advantage of experience, Samantha had speed on her side. For a while, the fight was evenly matched, until age caught up with the older man while Samantha's blades only spun faster as time passed by. Zevran's brutal trainings had paid off.

Pushing Howe back on his heels, Samantha could smell blood. Blinded by both fury and battle rush, her strikes came even faster, her counters pushed harder. But her attacks also became more reckless. She saw an opening and took the chance with a potentially fatal but risky upper cut, but it was blocked last second by Howe's axe, leaving her side wide open for attack. Samantha immediately shifted to protect her weak side but it was too late. Howe's dagger slashed her torso in one long cut. It took her a very brief second to notice the pain and realized she had been hit. Had she been wearing her armor, the slash might not have cut through. Samantha staggered back in pain and struggled to block Howe's incoming attacks, losing the upper hand she had been holding momentarily.

"Wynne!" she called out amidst her battle. Almost immediately she felt a warm soothing sensation washed over her as the mage's healing spell began to stop the bleeding and the pain temporarily.

"Missed me?" Zevran dashed to her side upon finishing off the mage he was dealing with. Upon sparing a glance at her injury, her mentor scowled and chided loudly, "What did I teach you? Focus!"

Two blades turned into four. The blonde pair moved with such grace and speed as thought they were synchronized dancing, gaining momentum with each attack. Zevran's strikes were precise and accurate, poking at the seams of Howe's leather armor, attacking his weak points every chance he had. With Zevran by her side, blind fury was gone, replaced by utter clarity. Samantha followed the assassin's lead and attacked Howe's weakness with every single strike of her own.

Had she allowed her focus to shift just slightly, she would have noticed the sweetness of revenge was within her grasp.

Samantha rolled away to dodge Howe's desperate attack. Zevran immediately spun in between them and found an opening. One of his short dagger drove hilt-deep into the seam of Howe's armor, freezing the older man in his track. Yet, the poison on Zevran's blade had already been worn off from the previous battles. Howe staggered back in pain, but not dead. Zevran quickly followed up his attack with a smack on the head to knock down the Arl. Stepping on the chest of the fallen man, the assassin coldly raised his other dagger and aimed at Howe's open throat.

But the Rose's Thorn blocked Zevran's strike with a loud clang. "No! He's mine!" she seethed.

The assassin exchanged a glance with his dear friend and stepped back wordlessly.

"Maker spit on you..." Howe coughed out blood as he gasped for precious air. "I deserved... more..."

"SHUT UP!" Samantha smacked him hard across his face with the pommel of the Rose's Thorn. "This is what you deserve! This is for my FATHER!" She drove her dagger into Howe's chest, purposely missing his heart. Howe screamed and twitched in pain, Samantha sadistically relished every second of it as she pulled her blade out. What she saw in front of her was no longer the contorted features of the dying arl, but the faces of all her loved ones perished because of this man's greed.

"_I love you, my darling Sammy. You know that, don't you?"_

"This is for my MOTHER!" Again, she stabbed.

"_Are you going to teach me to use a sword, Auntie Sammy? Then I can fight evil, too!" _

"For Oren!" Stab.

"_If you should need any assistance in the coming days, Sam, I would be glad to offer it."_

"Oriana!" Stab.

"_The good Maker knows I needn't take care of you anymore."_

"Nan!" Stab.

"_I'm please some of my lessons seem to have stuck." _

"Master Aldous!" Stab.

"_Can you imagine? Me? A Grey Warden! It would be everything I've dreamed of!"_

"Ser Gilmore!" Stab.

"_Please, child. Call me 'Mallol'. I've know you since you were a wee babe, after all." _

"Mother Mallol!" Stab.

"This is for betraying my father and RUINING MY LIFE!" She flipped the dagger in her hand and slashed Howe's throat in one smooth motion. Samantha heard a sick crack sound when his throat was cut open; it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Blood gushed through his wounds and gathered onto the grimy floor underneath his motionless body, sadly and undeservedly reminded her of the way her father died. Tears flowed uncontrollably down as she finally dropped the dagger and sank to her knees. A huge invisible weight had been lifted from her shoulders: her family had been avenged. Her duty was done.

Yet, why did it still feel so empty inside?

_They won't come back, no matter what I do. They won't come back to me..._ Her entire body trembled as she fought to control her sob. She thought she had gotten over the pain, she thought she had put her past behind her. But she was wrong. It hurt like sodding Dark City burning from within. The worst part was, now that Howe was dead, the pain not only refused to leave her alone, but it had burned a hole inside her. A big empty hole. Howe was dead, but her loved ones would never returned to her, her life would never be restored. And now, she had no one else to hate, no one else to blame.

Zevran kneed down to put his arm around her shoulder. That comforting gesture was the last thing that broke Samantha's emotion stonewall. She turned and buried her face onto his chest, letting go of any remaining shred of dignity and control, and wailed as though she was once again a child. Perhaps Zevran was startled, but Samantha was passed caring. She was not the poised Lady Cousland, she was not their wise Warden leader. Right now, she was nothing but a broken woman whose soul was once again ripped out of her as she relived that fateful night over and over again inside her head. The voices of the dead haunted her mind, the faces of lost loved ones broke her heart. To his credit, Zevran did not say a word. He merely held her tight as she cried. His surprisingly strong arms supporting her weight as she slumped against him, steadying her shaking body.

Revenge was definitely sweet for a brief moment. And then, sweetness was gone, leaving her with nothing but utter emptiness.


	32. Save the Queen

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Spanish translation in this story is done by my husband. The decision to make Antivan Spanish instead of Italian was done after consulting both my husband and my good friend from Italy. Both told me to use Spanish instead, so proper credit goes to them.

A big thanks to Jinx1983 and RandomWittering for beta-ing this chapter.

Last but certainly not least, thank you for continuing to read this little story. And a big thank you to everyone who took their time to review. I appreciate all the support. Hope you'll enjoy this relatively peaceful chapter before the next emotional roller-coaster ride. Yes, this is 'peaceful' compared to what's to come. I do miss writing those earlier, simpler chapters where those two just flirted mindlessly. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Thirty Two: Save the Queen

* * *

Samantha did not remember how she got out of the room where she had killed Howe. Zevran's arm was around her, leading her out. Leliana flanked her other side, holding her discarded dagger. Her left foot was put in front of the right, then the right one in front of the left. The motions were pure instinct with nineteen years of practice, ever since she had learned how to walk as a toddler at the age of one. However, she did not feel the floor underneath the soles of her boots, nor did she really feel anything else. Not the arm around her, not the wound in her side.

Her eyes stung, now red and swollen from crying; her throat raw. Not once, but twice she had thought she had run out of tears in the past year. Both times she had been proven wrong. The first time was after the massacre. After being inconsolable for days, one day the tears had simply stopped. She'd naively thought nothing else would make her cry ever again.

A few months later, she was proven wrong upon seeing an apparition of her late father. Perhaps it had been nothing but a mere illusion conjured by the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes to test her, but the brief and surreal reunion had ripped open the healing wound, and once again her tears came back.

While the reunion might have reopened the deepest wound in her heart, it had also healed it by bringing a much needed closure for her. Deep down, she had always known her father would never want her to grieve forever. But the guilt of being the sole survivor, the same guilt she had carried around with her since that fateful night was too strong. So strong it simply would not release her from its iron cage, let alone allowing her to seek the peace that she secretly longed for.

The cage was finally opened when the ghost of her father handed her the key by telling her to let go of her guilt, and to live her life as it was meant to. The late Teyrn, in his calm voice and loving blue eyes, guided his darling daughter back onto her path one last time, closing one chapter of her life, hence turning to the next chapter for her.

The next few months with Alistair had been some of the happiest times in her life, despite the Blight constantly looming over their heads and dangerous battles waiting around every corner. Tears had no reason to return, at least not yet. Perhaps not until the quite foreseeable and seemingly unavoidable wedge called duty that would drive itself between them, separating them, until they drifted apart. Samantha certainly did not look forward to that.

However, her unlikely mentor Zevran had also told her to never give up hope. So, there was always that one spark inside her that stubbornly refused to extinguish. Secretly, the level-headed Warden was hoping against hope that, by some miracle, there would be a way for them to stay together forever. Perhaps the Maker would grant them some sort of happiness after all that they had done.

But despite that tiny spark of hope, she couldn't completely fool herself by blindly ignoring what seemed to be the inevitable. Her father had always told her to be brave and well-prepared when she had to face an enemy. By acknowledging the separation, she was preparing herself for the worst. And should it happen, perhaps it would lessen the pain, not just for her, but for both of them. It had also made her appreciate any moment she had with him even more, be it a silly one or a sweet one.

While her future might not seem to be basking in all shades of happiness, for now she was truly happy with Alistair. There was not a single reason for her to expect her tears would return so soon. And yet, they did.

Long-awaited revenge should be sweet and gratifying. It was, for a brief moment. Then it sent her straight down to the Dark City when the feeling of emptiness overwhelmed her senses. Tears once again returned for the third time since that life-changing night at her castle. Once more, she had to pick up the broken pieces and put herself back as a whole. Time did not stop for her to grieve, she knew that all too well the first two times she broke down. Whether it was to continue on her way to Ostagar, or to move on to the next test of faith in the Temple, Samantha had learned to carry on despite the pain inside her. She had done it before, twice, and she could certainly do it again.

And she did.

This time, with the help of her two best friends, both quietly flanked her either side. Samantha took a long and shaky breath to clear her head as she glanced about with reddened eyes. Zevran had led her up a flight of stairs, presumably out of the dungeons and back onto the main floor of the Arl's mansion.

Leliana stopped in front of the door that would lead them back to the main hallway. She passed the dagger to Zevran before holding Samantha's face gently in her hands, making the younger woman look directly at her. "It's over now, Sam. You did it. Howe is dead." Leliana's soothing voice combined with her melodic tone had an almost hypnotic effect. "Come, Alistair is waiting. He is probably staring out the window and pouting right now."

That vivid mental image of a sulking human pup brought a faint smile to Samantha's face. She took another deep breath to collect herself, the focus of her eyes sharpened, and she nodded in agreement.

Zevran handed the dagger back to her. "Put it away for now. We still have to be in disguise until we get Anora out."

She pull the hemline of the long dress up and sheathed her dagger once again. The movement aggravated the wound and pain shot up from the side of her torso as Wynne's spell had started to wear off. Samantha winced.

Wynne came up to cast a healing spell before examining her wound. "The cut is long and quite deep. I can stop the bleeding in the meantime with my spells, but you need to have it tended to soon."

"We best hurry, then," suggested Zevran as he cautiously released his arm around Samantha, waiting for a brief moment for her, allowing her to stabilize herself before taking a step back.

The assassin opened the door and peeked around before stepping out in the hallway, with his companions trailing behind. He casually walked down the mansion towards Anora's prison, acting as though he had every right to be there. Thankfully there were no guards in sight.

Her eyes still stung, her throat still sore, but Samantha slowly recovered with each step she took. Howe's death did not bring her loved ones back, but she still had the man she loved more than life itself waiting for her at the mansion. And he was safe.

Steeling herself as the seconds passed, drawing strength from knowing her beloved Prince was well-protected, Samantha was once again the fearless leader when they reached the locked door of Anora's prison. She had to be, there was no time for her to grieve, no time for her to reflect. She had to get Anora out before Howe's men discovered the death of their leader. She knew the cards were stacking against them, against Alistair more specifically. Should this rescue mission not succeed, his enemy would win. His name would be tarnished, his bid for the throne would fail, and his head would roll. Samantha could not – no, she would not allow that to happen. She had already failed to protect her family once, she would never be able to forgive herself again if she failed to protect Alistair.

She exchanged a glance with Zevran before reaching out to knock on the door, the assassin's lips curved up in relief to see his Samantha back. "Your Majesty?" she called out.

"Thank the Maker you are back!" came the Queen's voice from behind the heavy door.

Zevran once again habitually checked for traps before picking the lock. Soon enough, a click was heard and the assassin opened the door.

Standing inside, wearing an over-sized chainmail suit, was the Queen of Ferelden. Her long golden hair was hiding inside the helmet, but her face was more than recognizable, at least to Samantha. The Queen was remarkably beautiful, with sharp yet feminine features. Although her stunning almond-shaped eyes could turn as cold as the sapphire stones their color resembled, and they often did.

"My thanks, Samantha," said the Queen who graced Samantha with one of her rare smiles before looking the younger blonde woman over quickly. "It has been a while since we last met, but now is hardly the time to catch up."

Samantha nodded crisply in agreement. "Let's go before the guards find us."

"Thank you. I'll trust you to lead us safely out," said Anora rather charmingly. She paused for a second. Then, with her fine brows knitted in what seemed to be mild distress, the Queen continued, "If Howe's people find me, I'll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace... where my father may _also_have me killed."

Something inside her clicked. The Warden arched an eyebrow and tossed the Queen a skeptical look. A small part of her told her to keep her mouth shut before revealing too much, but Samantha couldn't. Not when the older woman mockingly played the role of a victim, and openly treated her like a fool.

"Howe is dead. There is no more reason for his people to kill you unless they wanted to be hanged for regicide," reasoned Samantha with icy calmness. "Besides, if Howe truly wanted you dead, you would be dead by now. Trust me, Your Majesty, he had no problem having his men kill my entire family in one single night, from my defenseless little nephew to my old Nan. Every single one. I doubt he would blink if he were to kill you." The tone of her normally soft voice was cold and bitter. "As for your father... He would be better off keeping you as his puppet if it was the throne he sought after, would he not? The people would not forgive even the war hero if he had his daughter killed, especially when his daughter was their beloved Queen." Samantha's soft blue eyes hardened and landed squarely on Anora's sharp ones. "Surely you can see that?"

The message was loud and clear: she knew Anora's game and her lies. The knowing look Samantha was giving Anora was so piercing, even the proud Queen had to glance away. It was a reckless move, exposing the enemy's ploy right in front of her face. It was a path Samantha knew she should not have taken, yet she couldn't deny the satisfaction it brought her.

Without another word, she turned and led the way back to the side entrance through the kitchen, but not before she caught a glimpse of a wide smirk of pure pride on Zevran face. His dear little student had learned well.

* * *

Just when Samantha was about to thank the Maker for the successful rescue, the sight in the front hall of the mansion froze both her tracks and the blood in her veins. Around two dozen well-armed, heavily-armored soldiers had flooded in and sealed all the exits. Leading the team was a face Samantha never thought she would see again so soon. It was Loghain's knight whom she'd had the pleasure to meet yesterday.

"Warden! In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms," barked Cauthrien. "Surrender, and you may be shown mercy."

Samantha narrowed her eyes with a scowl. Not even half an hour had passed since she had killed Howe, how could Cauthrien have known about his death and also be ready to arrest her just when she was about to leave the mansion? Could she have been used by Loghain to get rid of Howe? After all, Loghain knew about the feud she had with the monster who had slain her family.

Samantha had to come up with her next move fast. But she could only think of one – a risky move. "I am here to free Anora, by her own request, who was held captive by Rendon Howe."

What other choices did she have? Surrender to Loghain's men without revealing the real reason why she was here in the first place? Anora's lack of denial just now was more than enough to be taken as a silent admission that she knew her father would not kill her. The proud Queen would never hesitate to correct Samantha's deduction if Samantha had indeed been mistaken. Most importantly, through Samantha's reasoning, it was established that Anora knew she knew about it. So, by placing Anora in the safety of her father's trusted knight, Samantha was hardly betraying the Queen.

But that didn't mean the Queen would not betray her.

"Don't be ridiculous." The knight scowled in disapproval. "The Queen isn't being held prisoner here or anywhere else. Her father would never stand for such a thing."

"Then, tell me, who is this woman behind me?"

"What?" Cauthrien took a closer look at the woman in armor.

"Ser Cauthrien!" Anora rushed to the knight. "Praise the Maker you're here..." She then turned and pointed an accusing finger right at Samantha. "This brigand tried to kidnap me!"

Sky blue eyes narrowed and burned into the face of the other blonde woman. Anora's fake scared expression was flawless; she did play the role of a victim well. It shouldn't surprise Samantha that Anora would sell her out in the blink of an eye. Yet, when it truly happened, betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow.

But then, perhaps Anora and her father were in it together to start with, as Zevran had pointed out yesterday. Anora was held captive, just to lure Samantha in to rescue her, setting up a perfect chance for Samantha to confront Howe. If Howe won, Loghain would be rid of a thorn on his side. If Samantha survived, he would be rid of an ambitious and dangerous lieutenant who had grown bolder by the day. By the end of today, Samantha would either be captured or killed. Even if she had chosen not to come, the kidnapping would have been pinned on Eamon and subsequently Alistair. Either way, it would be a win-win situation for the Mac Tirs.

So that was the trap she had walked into. It was all too clear now. She had to thank the Maker Alistair had not come with her, or else, all would be lost.

"Unbelievable..." Cauthrien shook her head in disgust. "Bring them down! Loghain wants the Warden dead or alive!"

The heavily armored guards closed in at the order. Short daggers appeared in both Zevran and Leliana's hands, Wynne's offensive spell was weaving, all ready and willing to make one last stand. But Samantha saw the futility of resistance. It would be suicidal to face more than twenty well-armed and well-armored guards without any armor or decent weapons. Although Samantha had no doubt in her mind her friends would follow her to the Dark City should she choose to, she was not about to make that choice for them. They had to get out alive; they had to warn Alistair.

"Wait!" Samantha yelled suddenly, holding her empty hands up in surrender. "Take me! Let them go!"

Cauthrien's dark eyes widened in mild surprise, then narrowed suspiciously at the blonde woman. Considering their last encounter, Samantha could hardly blame the knight for taking her sudden submission as more of a trap than a genuine gesture. Cauthrien held up one hand and stilled all her soldiers, as she stared straight into Samantha's eyes skeptically.

Samantha forced her face to stay neutral and held the knight's gaze passively. Both hands inched up enough to deliberately expose the side of her wool dress which was cut open with blood stains on it. Strands of golden hair fell out of her loose bun haphazardly. Those expressive blue eyes that were once blazing during yesterday's encounter were now dimmed with the loss of hope, and, along with her delicate nose, they were still red from crying. The once proud Warden had been reduced to an unarmed, unarmored and injured damsel in distress, whom Cauthrien could crush with her eyes closed, the knight could obviously see that. And that was exactly what Samantha was counting on.

The knight ordered the guards to stand down and approached the Warden. The great sword strapped to Cauthrien's backt was still sheathed. Both women knew she would not need that to take down the injured Warden. A few well-placed punches with her heavy-gauntleted fist would do the job nicely.

"Loghain only wants me, so take me. They are of no use to him. Let them leave, unharmed," Samantha bargained with a calm but firm tone, still holding the knight's dark eyes steadily.

"Sam!" Leliana shouted out.

Samantha ignored the bard's cry and focused only on the knight. Her expression remained as passive as an open book, welcoming the older woman to stare inside her soul to examine for any hint of deception.

Cauthrien couldn't find any, for there was none.

Yet, the knight's face darkened as she took two more steps to close the distance between them. Without warning, Cauthrien raised a hand and smacked Samantha hard across her face. Samantha had to clench her teeth to keep herself from screaming out.

"SAM!" All her friends cried in unison.

Almost immediately, while still grimacing from the intense pain in her cheek, Samantha waved one hand to dismiss their concern. The last thing she wanted was for them to rush to her rescue, giving Loghain's knight an excuse to haul them all away. They had to get out of the mansion alive; they had to get back to Alistair.

The heavy gauntlet not only left a striking red mark on her face that surely would turn into an ugly bruise given time, but also left a trail of blood where it cut the soft skin on her cheekbone. She slowly turned her head back and stared straight at the knight, keeping her expression as calm as she could. Not a hint of anger was shown, nor was there any fear. But hidden under the calm facade now was an even stronger sense of determination.

"That was for disrespecting your betters yesterday, churl," claimed the knight righteously.

Samantha did not bother with a response, instead she brought her sleeve up and calmly wiped the blood away before it dripped down to her chin. If it was humiliation Cauthrien sought before whisking her away and leaving her friends alone, Samantha would take it all in her stride.

Cauthrien raised her hand once more. Samantha almost winced in anticipation of another hit, but thankfully the knight was merely signaling for the arrest. The guards moved in and grabbed the Warden roughly by her arms and twisted them behind her back. She began to feel a pinch on the wound on her torso, it could only mean one thing: Wynne's spell was wearing off. Any sharp movements would only aggravate the injury further. Wherever they were about to take her, she had to find a way to keep herself from bleeding to death before she could have a chance to bandage her torso, _if_she would be given that chance at all.

Thinking fast on her feet, Samantha scowled in annoyance and struggled against their iron grip a little, careful not to move her side, then shot a glare at each of the guards. "Is this the proper way to treat the late Teyrn Bryce's daughter?" asked Samantha indignantly. Despite the circumstances, with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted, the normally friendly Warden managed to look every inch like a haughty noble lady she was trained to be. "Or do you not trust yourselves to guard one unarmed woman who is surrounded by two dozen heavily armed soldiers?"

The men looked at their leader for guidance. To her secret relief, Cauthrien reluctantly gave them a nod, and both men released their tight grip on her. Samantha finished her act by rubbing both arms in dismay and turned her back to the guards.

Cauthrien motioned her soldiers to retreat with her new prisoner. Time was running out, but Samantha had one important message she had to relay to Zevran somehow without raising suspicion. She needed to make sure Alistair would be kept safe, and more importantly, that he would not do anything reckless in response to her capture.

However, she would not risk his safety by stating outright his importance to her and to their fight. Instead, she had to downplay his role by not even mentioning his name. Everyone saw her as the leader of the group, Alistair was just following her lead from the beginning. To them, the bastard Prince was perhaps nothing but a pawn for Eamon's ambition to control the throne, harmless without the lead of his golden-haired Warden partner-in-crime, even Loghain seemed to believe in that. Samantha was not about to correct them. Instead, she would gladly play that devious role to her advantage, if it would take the heat and unwanted attention away from Alistair. With her in his hand, perhaps Loghain would find no more reason to go after Alistair.

And now, Samantha needed to find a way to convey her message as discretely as possible. When she walked by the assassin, her eyes held his worried gaze with an intensity that was rare for the normally mild-mannered woman. Zevran's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly as he no doubt noticed the change. However intrigued he was, the assassin remained quiet and let Samantha make her move.

"Replace that worn out rug with one that is more durable. Could you please do that for me?" Samantha kept her tone as light and casual as she could manage, but her expressive eyes told another tale – one of urgency and desperation. Thankfully, she was only facing Zevran, no one else could see her expression.

It was a risky move. Her seemingly random and mundane message might be lost on the assassin. But Samantha had faith in her clever and cunning mentor to decipher her cryptic statement.

And her faith was not misplaced. There was a mere second of confusion on Zevran's face before his eyes lit up in clarity and understanding: more pacing would take place in at Eamon's mansion. Zevran nodded after he recalled their conversation earlier. "I'll see to that."

"Thank you." The smile of relief on her lips was genuine. Her blue eyes then once more intensified into a meaningful look, while her tone still remained light. "I know I can count on you."

"... Voy a salvarte... May the Maker guide you," mumbled Zervan with a slight bow of his head, pretending it was just a prayer in his native tongue, wisely using a language none would understand but the two of them.

Zevran would save her, she knew, and she was counting on that when she surrendered. If all of them were killed there and then, all hope would be lost. But with her friends remaining free and alive, Samantha knew she would be rescued. And even if they failed at that, at least Alistair would be still be safe, and he could continue with the fight against Loghain and the Blight, now with the help from Riordan. Samantha shot him a grateful glance with a hint of a smile. Understanding was established silently between the blonde pair before Samantha was escorted out, holding her head high with the poise and dignity fit to be queen.


	33. Carry on My Wayward Son

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: A big thanks to Jinx1983 for beta-ing this chapter.

Let's switch to another camera for a moment, so to speak, and follow me inside Alistair's head. I love writing from his angle. He has the tendency to babble and be sarcastic, it's fun to write his train of thought in a slightly more casual and loose way than Sam's. This chapter is a little bit racier, because, well Alistair is a guy, and he's only 22.

Also, there's a a very, very tiny Firefly reference.

* * *

Chapter Thirty Three: Carry on My Wayward Son

* * *

How in the blazes did he get here?

Well, beside the obvious fact that he walked into Arl Eamon's study and sat his arse down on this cushy chair by this exquisitely made table, with a stack of books already waiting for him to devour, all carefully picked with tender loving care by that always lovely and sometimes surprisingly devious woman of his. But that was beside the point.

So, how did he get here figuratively?

He had come far, even Alistair had to admit to himself. From a bastard orphan who got kicked out of the only home he had ever known, to a reluctant templar-in-training who had never truly belonged to the sacred Order, then to a junior Warden who had lost everyone in one single battle, and now to a rightful heir who challenged the throne. Alistair's face scrunched up at that last thought. 'Rightful heir'? 'Challenged the throne'? Him? The man who sometimes couldn't even find his own boots in the morning without the help of his love?

Did he truly have what it would take to be a king? Or was he here just because of the man who had impregnated his mother happened to be the late King Maric? Well, Samantha didn't seem to think so. So adamant was her faith in him that it had even made him start to believe in himself, for he knew inside that pretty head of hers lied a highly intelligent mind. So, if she had faith in him, he should have faith in himself, because he knew she would be right.

And faith he did have, more and more each day, along with two other things called confidence and determination. All that had been stripped away from him since he was a child just to keep him from stealing Cailan's crown, all had been slowly restored back to him courtesy of one strong-willed yet soft-hearted Lady Cousland.

Still, all these talks and preparations for the Landsmeet felt so very surreal to him, so much so it felt almost like he was dreaming. Alistair briefly wondered if he was still trapped in the Fade by that hideous sloth demon he encountered in the Tower of Magi. That would explain why he was doing the most ridiculous thing: seeking the throne, and more importantly, why an incredibly beautiful and smart woman would choose to love _him _unconditionally.

Alistair chided himself for being crazy. Surely he wasn't in the Fade, or was he? He pinched himself just to be sure, and winced as he felt the pinch. Of course he wasn't dreaming! If he was still being fooled by that demon, wouldn't it trap him by placing him in his perfect dream? A place without the Blight or any of this throne business. A place where he would be neither a Warden or a Prince; there would be no title, no burdens. And he would be in bed with the love of his life, who would be preferably naked or at least wearing something extremely revealing. Surrounding them would be platters of all sort of cheeses and an envious collection of toy statuettes for him, and countless delicious smelling warm pies for her.

And there would be whipped cream.

Alistair barely held back a sly snicker at the last thought and glanced about the room. No, he certainly wasn't in the Fade. Otherwise, he would not be in the Arl's study, surrounded by books, and with his Sammy sorely missing. There was more than a hint of disappointment hidden underneath a brief sigh of relief. He liked his fantasy much better than this reality.

He shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He flipped to another page of the book he had been trying to read, his eyes scanned the words. He knew every one of them, to be sure, but he could process none. Try as he might, he couldn't study. His mind had been too restless the entire morning – no, ever since yesterday when she had refused to let him join her.

That hurt more than he would ever admit. But then, he didn't have to tell her right out, he suspected Samantha knew. She always knew. She could see right through him, almost uncannily so. She understood him perhaps even better than he understood himself. Maybe that was why she could so easily and readily forgive him for his sudden – albeit perfectly justifiable – tantrum yesterday. Of course, he hoped partly was due to his irresistible charm. Right...

Alistair let out a wary sigh and, once again, attempted to clear his mind from his endless train of thought, which all somehow led to one lovely face.

The study was warm and quiet, the sunlight shining through the window was bright and cheerful, and his cup of tea on the desk was nice and hot. Yet none of those could soothe his restless heart. He had been reading the same page over again, but not a single word could stick to his memory. Alistair slammed the book shut in frustration. His eyes idly landed on the empty chair across the table, wishing that it would be occupied by the woman who had been busy occupying his mind this morning. Or, better yet, he wished she would be sitting on his lap right now. No harm would ever come to her if he had her in his arms, with the exception of an occasional tickle or two.

Samantha had left no more than an hour ago, already it felt like eternity to him. For the hundredth time ever since she had stepped out of the mansion, Alistair regretted not following her. He should have gone with her despite her protest. His place was by her side, shielding her from danger, cutting down any enemies who dared to come close to the Lady Cousland. Sitting in the comfort of Eamon's study while the woman he loved was out there risking herself for the sake of the country definitely felt wrong to Alistair.

A knot in his stomach tightened.

Didn't he vow solemnly to himself that he would do anything to protect her from harm? He would never forget that particular moment when he helplessly watched her collapse in front of him after shielding him from a deadly blow by a werewolf that was meant for him. The scars from that day remained on her back, although they had faded to a light shade of pink. No amount of kisses could heal those long scars on her otherwise flawless skin, and he had certainly tried to many times. It wasn't the look of the scars that bothered him – she looked just as beautiful to him no matter what. It was what those scars represented that rattled him: how fragile life was, how easy it would be to have her taken away from him. The thought of losing her forever scared him to his core, and he had since vowed to protect her, whatever the cost.

But how could he protect her with his arse glued to this cushy chair, while her cute one was entering the hornet's nest?

Alistair sighed in frustration.

His fingers, though, twitched involuntarily when his train of the thought headed to her hindquarter. Inevitably, he recalled how it felt when his hands sneaked up onto her behind. And he didn't have to think further than just last night.

The effective way she ended their argument last night was a surprise to him. An utterly pleasant surprise. The bitterness in his gut disappeared the very moment her nightgown fell onto the floor; fatigue in his muscles dissipated when his hands reached for that soft body and pulled her to him.

Alistair cleared his throat and reopened the forgotten book in front of him, in a feeble attempt to stop his mind from heading down that path. That one steamy, passionate, yet sweet and loving path.

Alas, he failed miserably. He couldn't stop his mind from recalling how full her breasts looked under the dim candlelight, or how sweet she tasted when her mouth opened to his. Nor could he stop thinking about how gorgeous she was when she pinned him down underneath her, with her cheeks flushed, blue eyes half-closed, tangled long blonde strands fell over her face. The sound she made from within her throat, and the way she felt when he was inside her drove him absolutely insane. Even now by merely thinking about it made his heart race and his ears burn.

Passion burned, exploded, then faded; tenderness took over. She eventually collapsed right on top of him after sweet release came to both of them. The glow on her face when she lifted her head to look at him made her look even more beautiful than ever. After a loving a smile, a tender kiss, and some softly whispered words, she snuggled up to his chest, then fell asleep peacefully in his arms, right where she belonged.

Alistair took a long, shaky breath as blood rushed to his face and all over his body. So vivid was his recollection, that he could almost feel the softness of her body and the warmth of her skin against his right this instant. Recalling one of their many passionate moments might distract his restless mind, but it also raised some unnecessary feelings in this most inconvenient time and place. He idly wondered if it would be too odd to take a cold bath at this hour.

Shaking his head to clear away any more racy thoughts, Alistair shifted rather uncomfortably on the chair, and once again willed his focus to stay on the book in front of him. Yes, a few boring pages should cool his mind off somewhat, if he could keep himself from thinking about his Sammy. Every thought he had this morning seemed to lead directly to that beautiful face and that ravishing body. She had him wrapped around her finger, had she not? Alistair grinned at that thought. He certainly didn't mind a bit, so long as she would wrap herself around him. For the hundredth time since she left the mansion, he wondered when she would be back.

Just then, a thought occurred to him: she was gone for no more than an hour, and he already missed her.

* * *

The rest of the morning went by with his mind alternated between being worried about Samantha's safety and fantasizing about her. It was an endless cycle, with occasional interruptions when his will drove him back to reading the book in front of him. But was it his will that disciplined him so? If so, it had a very soft and sweet feminine voice that sounded too much like Samantha's.

His musing halted to a stop when Eamon entered the study. Alistair immediately perked up.

"Are they back yet?" asked Alistair eagerly.

"It's barely noon time, I imagine it would take them longer to rescue Anora." Eamon studied the Prince's face. "Don't worry, Alistair. I'm sure Samantha can take care of herself."

"But..." Alistair was about to protest.

"She is a capable fighter, isn't she? And your friends are with her as well."

"Yes, but... what if it's a trap?" Alistair shook his head, disturbed by that idea. "I just wish I could be there."

"If it's indeed a trap, then all the more reasons why you should stay. We cannot afford to lose you, or else I would be forced to align with Loghain for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?" This calm yet firm tone of the Arl's reminded Alistair of his childhood during those many times he was scolded for being the little trouble-maker he used to be.

Alistair scowled and stubbornly pressed his lips together without providing an obvious answer. However, he couldn't hold his words back for too long. "But I can't afford to lose her!" he countered.

Eamon regarded the young man for a long moment before shaking his head in what seemed to be resignation. "You look and sound so much like your father..." commented the Arl. "Samantha was right about not bringing you along. I have to say I was pleased with her decision. She reminds me of Bryce, when he was younger."

The Prince wanted to argue further, but his curiosity was piqued by the mention of the late Teyrn. "Did you know her father well?"

"Yes, he was a good friend," Eamon recalled fondly. "Bryce was an honorable man. He joined the rebellion led by your father, fought at the battle of White River. Samantha is very much like her father back then. Determined and dependable. But I can see she has some Eleanor in her judging from yesterday's... incident."

Alistair arched an eyebrow. "I've seen her angry before, well, a few times, but never like that." He had always known underneath her calm surface lied a very passionate soul, for he had witnessed that side of hers when the bedroom door was closed. But yesterday's display of the hidden fire within her had taken him by surprise, and he actually found it rather captivating.

"It's understandable. Howe took everything from her. I was actually surprised she had the restraint not to attack him yesterday." Eamon showed a half smile. "But, you know her more than I do. Perhaps better than anyone else."

"I hope so!" the Prince jested. When the meaning of Eamon's statement finally dawned on him, a slight pink tint crept up on his face. "Well, she is..." Alistair trailed off without finishing his thoughts and chuckled.

The Arl didn't press on the subject either. "Do you still like cheese as much as you did when you were young?"

Alistair was surprised by the question. "I still do."

"We have some fine cheeses in the kitchen. Help yourself with some."

Alistair grinned in delight. This was the first bright moment since he kissed her goodbye early this morning. Perhaps the day was not going to be as dreadful as he thought it would be. "Well, I will. Thank you." He paused then asked, "Does the chef here know how to make those pies they have in Redcliffe Castle?"

"Pies? Yes, of course. Isolde has brought in some Orlesian pie recipes for the chef here in Denerim as well as Redcliffe." Eamon looked puzzled. "I didn't know you've developed a taste for pie."

"I have. But it's not for me." The Prince's grin widened as he hatched a nefarious plan he knew would make up for the little fight he had started yesterday. "It's for Sam."

She had forgiven him with not just words but actions. Still, Alistair felt a dagger twisting in his stomach whenever he recalled the look on her face as the words flew out of his damned mouth in the heat of the moment. His words, however justifiable and truthful they were, had hurt her.

She knew he loved her more than anything, didn't she? Well, perhaps he had not said it enough. When was the last time he told her he loved her? Right, that night at Redcliffe. That was just a few days ago. She could not have forgotten about it already, could she?

Maybe he should tell her those three little words once again when she came back. This time, with the help of her favorite pie.

* * *

The Arl was not lying when he said the cheeses they had in the kitchen were fine. No, they were beyond fine; they were simply divine. Beside satisfying his taste buds, Alistair had managed to work his charm on the chef and had her bake him a pie by tonight. His Sammy would love him for that. But now it's time to go back to the study and continue with his reading. He'd be damned if he disappointed the love of his life by failing this simple task.

It was then he saw a slender blonde woman in armor hurrying down the hallway towards his direction. Alistair broke into a huge grin with relief. Yet the relief was fleeting. His grin died instantly, for with a second look, he realized she was not Samantha. He regarded the woman curiously as she approached him.

To his surprise, that woman stopped short when she saw him. Her blue eyes widened in shock as she openly scanned him over from head to toes twice. "... By the Maker! You could be his twin!" She continued to look at him as if he was an oddity that should belong to the Wonders of Thedas.

"Whose twin?" Alistair shot her a dubious look.

However, instead of answering like a normal person would, the woman merely shook her head and frowned in annoyance. "It doesn't matter!" She waved a dismissive hand impatiently then demanded, "Take me to Eamon!"

"'Eamon'?" He glanced at her with an arched eyebrow. No one within the mansion right now would dare to call the Arl by his name. Who did she think she was? "Well, the 'Arl' is in his study."

She either didn't get his sarcasm, or she didn't care. "Then what are you waiting for? Take me there!" she demanded once more, then casually dropped the helmet she was carrying on top of a nearby side table.

Alistair gave her a once-over and scowled mildly in irritation. Even though both women had golden hair and bright blue eyes, their similarities ended there. There was a certain sharpness and iciness in this woman's voice as well as her features that distinguished her from his Sammy. She was beautiful, Alistair would give her that much, but she was as cold as the Frostback Mountain.

Another snobbish noble, no a roll of his eyes, he turned towards the direction of the study. But he refused to consider it as a favor for this rude woman by leading her there. He had to go back there to study before Samantha came back and tested him on everything he read, as she had so lovingly warned him this morning. The question was: would her test come before or after she fulfilled her promise, the one which she would make his steamiest fantasy come true?

He certainly hoped it would be after, because no matter which fantasy he chose, he knew by the end of it they would both collapse in sheer exhaustion. By then her tests, along with his answers, would be long forgotten.

Now, if he could only pick one fantasy out of his many.

* * *

His mind was still firmly on some rather saucy thoughts that involved whipped cream when he entered the study. So enticed by his own fantasies, Alistair had forgotten about the strange woman trailing behind him, until she shoved him aside and rushed to Eamon.

Alistair shot her a glare while Eamon looked up in absolute surprise. "Anora?" said the Arl. "Thank the Maker you are safe."

Hazel eyes couldn't be any wider. That snobbishly rude, icily insufferable woman was Anora? No wonder she acted like she was above everyone else. She was definitely Loghain's spawn.

But, something didn't feel right to him. If Anora was here, where was Samantha?

Before Alistair could ask, the Queen announced, "Eamon! Something terrible has happened!"

"What do you mean 'something terrible'?" asked Alistair suspiciously. The knot in his gut returned.

Anora shot him a withering glance for the interruption. Yet it neither fazed him, nor did he even care to notice it. "You didn't just walk out of your 'prison', I presume. So, where are the heroes of the day?" He tried to maintain a lighter tone for his own sake, but the knot kept tightening despite his effort.

Footsteps outside the hallway announced the arrival of said party. Alistair whipped around and greeted them with a huge grin of relief. But for the second time of the day, his grin dissipated when only three wary figures walked in, all wearing a very grim look on their faces. Wynne seemed deeply troubled. That carefree smirk that seemed forever stuck on Zevran's face was gone, now replaced by the coldest look that chilled Alistair to his bones. Even the forever friendly Leliana fixed her glare murderously on the Queen.

One person was missing – the very woman he had been waiting for. The knot in his stomach tightened even more, now painfully so. Yet Alistair didn't quite feel it, nor did he feel anything but a growing fear in his heart. "Where is she?" he asked firmly.

Everyone could hear him, but no one answered. Fear dug it's claws into his heart and gave it a sharp twist. The expressions on their faces as well as the pointedly missing person should be enough to tell him what was happening. Still, he absolutely refused to draw any conclusion, let alone accepting it.

There had to be a way to explain the missing heroine.

"Oh, I get it... It's a joke, isn't it, Leliana? To get back to me for eavesdropping on you and Sam this morning..." Samantha was hiding somewhere outside the hallway, secretly laughing at the prank they pulled on him. Yes, that had to be it. It _had_ to be. Or else... No. Alistair would not let himself think of anything otherwise. The corner of his lips tried to twist up in what seemed to be a smirk for seeing through the prank. Yet, even the muscles on his face didn't agree with him. "Fine, you've got me. I'm sorry for eavesdropping, Sammy. You can come in now!" he called out to the open door and into the empty hallway.

But there was neither movements nor sound from the outside. Fear now squeezed his heart with such force its iron claws might just stop it from beating.

The bard's eyes turned watery as she shook her head at him. "Alistair..."

Alistair did not like that look she gave him. "Where is Sam?" he asked again, much louder and firmer this time, in case somehow they all lost their hearing momentarily when he first asked that question.

Zevran's face twitched in anger. "Ask her," he growled and tilted his chin towards the Queen.

Blood began to turn cold inside his veins. But still, he stubbornly refused to acknowledge his worst nightmare. No, it couldn't be. It simply could not be. Marching right up to the Queen, Alistair glowered at Anora and asked in his most commanding voice that sounded foreign even to his own ears, "Where is Samantha?"

Anora seemed taken aback at his reaction, but quickly she composed herself. "My father took her," answered the Queen crisply.

It felt surreal. He understood all four words, yet he didn't want to understand the meaning of them. But it sank in, whether he liked it or not. And now, fear finally made it's finishing strike and ripped his heart right out of his chest. His absolute worst nightmare was materializing right in front of him, and he could no longer run away from it.

Blood previously frozen by fear now boiled madly by anger. "TOOK HER? WHERE?"

The Queen winced, perhaps in horror, perhaps in disgust. Alistair didn't give a sodding rat's ass what she was thinking. He needed to know where his Sammy was. Now. "Answer me! Where is Samantha?"

Displeased with the way she was treated, Anora arched a fine brow. "She's been taken to Fort Drakon."

"Fort Drakon? Maker, no..." His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He knew about Fort Drakon. Any prisoners sent there were all waiting for executions. No exception. Alistair shook his head in denial. His Sammy in Fort Drakon? No, this must be a joke. Yet, he knew this was not a prank, Samantha would never let a silly joke go this far. Then, perhaps this was a dream after all? Maybe, just maybe, if he closed his eyes and opened them again, he would wake up in bed, with her sleeping soundly next to him.

Alistair shut his eyes as tightly as he could. Maker, please let this be a dream, even if he had to wake up somewhere stranded without his pants, please let this be a dream, he bargained feebly. When he opened his eyes once again, standing in front of him was still that icy blonde woman, not the loving one he adored. No, he wasn't dreaming.

"What did you do to her?"

"What did _I_ do to her?" Anora retorted back indignantly without missing a beat. "It was my father's right-hand woman who took her!"

"Sam would not be taken if you had not sold her out!" Leliana revealed with a seethe.

Anger flowed through his veins, burning every fiber of his being. The Prince narrowed his eyes murderously at the high and mighty Queen. "You... WHAT?"

"She should not have told Cauthrien I was there! I would have been taken back to the palace," Anora defended her actions.

"And what? You would go back to your plush royal chambers?" Zevran snapped. "You told your father's goon that Sam kidnapped you while it was Howe who did it, and she was there to rescue you! Save your lies for those who are stupid enough to believe them. We already knew your father wouldn't kill you."

Alistair almost raised his fist to punch her out of sheer fury. Almost. But he could not bring himself to hit a woman, not when she was unarmed. Right now, he absolutely loathed himself for his stupid sodding morals. Instead, he punch the stone wall next to the Queen, hard enough to draw blood on his knuckles. Yet, he felt nothing. "HOW COULD YOU?" he yelled at the rather startled Anora. "What has Sam ever done to you? She was there to save you! You- You sick, SICK woman!"

Anora's lips curled up in a sneer and turned to the Arl for support. "Eamon!"

The Arl scowled at her in utter disgust. "What have you done, Anora?"

The Queen's face changed in the blink of an eye from incredulous to dignified as she sensed the tide against her. "No point in arguing right now. We need to focus," Anora reasoned in what could have been an inspirational tone, in an attempt to divert everyone's attention. "We need to find a way to get her out."

Pointedly ignored the Queen, Alistair looked at Eamon for advice. Yet the Arl could only shake his head helplessly. "I can write a letter of appeal to the regent, but that's all I can do."

The disappointment from the lack of help by the Arl would have been rather overwhelming, had he not been expecting it. No matter, he would storm the Dark City to save her, she knew that. She had to know that. "I'll go to Fort Drakon!"

"You can't just match up to the fort and demand her release," said the Arl calmly.

"Then I'll cut down every single bastard standing in my way!"

"Alistair," Wynne chimed in with her quiet yet firm tone, one she knew would get his attention. And it did. "As skilled in battles as you are, even you cannot take down every guard and their captain in the fort by yourself."

"Wynne is right," Eamon continued. "You'd only get caught and play right into Loghain's hand."

Hazel eyes switched from the Arl to the mage and back. One was his foster father, the other his surrogate mother figure, neither could help. His heart pounded wildly inside his chest, his head was about to explode. Alistair let out a loud groan of frustration and ran his hand through his hair, almost hard enough to pull off a few strands. "What do you want me to do?" asked the Prince in sheer exasperation. "I won't sit here and do nothing. I WON'T!"

Leliana placed a comforting hand on Alistair's tense shoulder. "We'll find a way, Alistair. Let's go somewhere else to come up with a plan." She shot a suspicious glare at the Queen. "Somewhere private. We may have more spies here than in Val Royeaux."

A small spark of hope rose up from a sea of blazing anger. An Orlesian bard would certainly know more about jail breaking then he did. Didn't Samantha say something about not giving up hope, as Zevran had told her? Alistair glanced from Leliana to Zevran, whose expression mirrored his own. While the Prince's eyes burning in red hot anger, the assassin's were awfully cold and hard, both men looked equally murderous.

Without even asking, Alistair knew Zevran would help.

The lone bastard Prince was no longer alone. Not anymore.

"Let's go somewhere," Alistair agreed with the bard, then added with a snarl, "Before I kill _someone_ here!"

"You have to beat me to it first." Although he was addressing the other man, Zevran's deadly glare remained on Anora. "I say slit her throat and cut her flesh to feed the fish, before dumping her body into the river."

Anora drew a sharp breath when a hint of fear flashed across her face. But whatever she was feeling, she masked it quickly. "You'd better be careful with your words. That's treason."

If looks could kill, the Queen would be murdered horrendously and simultaneously by the Prince, the assassin, and the bard.

"Dead men tell no tales, woman," countered the assassin coldly. "Beside, I'm not even a Ferelden."

"Neither am I," added the bard.

"You should thank the Maker that you are a woman. Or else I would have broken every single one of your bones by now!" Alistair growled at the Queen.

Sharp blue eyes glared defiantly back at him.

"Well, I am a woman. Allow me!" Leliana stepped up and smacked Anora hard across her face. Fingernails scratched the Queen's smooth skin, leaving two red trails of blood on her pale face.

With a blaze of anger, Anora returned the gesture furiously. But the bard's reflex was too fast for her. Leliana grabbed her wrist and twisted it hard. Anora stubbornly bit back a scream, but the pain on her face was too apparent.

Alistair felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He scowled harshly at the Queen, hazel eyes narrowed and bore into her. "If there's one single scratch on Samantha, I don't care if you're Andraste herself, I swear to the Maker _I will kill you_!"

"I can think of at least ten creative ways to murder you without leaving a single trace," warned Zevran. "I can hardly wait to try any one of them."

Leliana shoved the royal wrist off as though it was the most disgusting thing, then added yet another slap on the other side of the Queen's cheek before marching out of the study with the assassin and the Prince.

* * *

"How did this happen?" Alistair roared as he marched down the hallway.

"Loghain's lackey showed up just when we were about to leave. Sam surrendered so we could come back," Zevran explained with more than a hint of regret in his voice.

"It was a setup!" Leliana added. "They could not have known Howe's been killed before we even left the mansion."

Alistair stopped dead his tracks and stared straight into the bard's eyes. "Howe's dead?"

Leliana nodded. "She did it."

"By the Maker..." Alistair let out a long breath and blinked rapidly to collect his thoughts. She did it. Of course she did, he never doubted that she would have the revenge she deserved. But he wasn't there for her. "W-was she all right? I mean... how did she take it?"

The bard exchanged a glance with the assassin before answering, "She broke down..."

The Prince slammed his own back onto the wall and dropped his face into his hands. Guilt was building up inside him so fast that it was drowning him. "I should have been there for her..." His head snapped up with a scowl when an unsettling thought hit him. "Was she... Was she hurt?" he asked tentatively, as if he was too afraid to find out the answer.

There was another glance exchanged between Leliana and Zevran. The pause was longer this time, Alistair didn't like the implication. "Was she hurt?" he asked again, more forcefully this time.

"She has a cut on the side of her torso," said Leliana.

His scowl tightened into a wince. If he could strike a deal with the Maker to transfer her wound onto his body right this instant, he would gladly do so. Ten times over if need be. "How bad was it?"

The bard chose not to answer directly. "Wynne's spell stopped the bleeding and the pain..."

"Temporarily!" Alistair snapped. "Once the spell wears off, she'll start to bleed again!" With added determination, Alistair pushed himself off the wall, and continued to march his way back to his guest room to retrieve his sword and his armor. "I'm going to Fort Drakon. Now!"

"I can't let you do that," said Zevran.

Alistair once again halted and turned to the assassin. Hazel eyes bore down on amber ones. "Pardon?" His tone was low and dangerous, as though baiting the assassin to repeat what he had said, just so he would have a perfect excuse to vent his anger and punch the elf.

To his credit, Zevran did not finch, nor did he change his tune. "Sam specifically told me to keep you safe."

"Safe? SAFE?" Alistair repeated so venomously as if it was the most insulting thing the assassin could say to him. "This happened because she wanted to keep me SAFE! I was supposed to be there for her when she killed that monster! I was supposed to be there to protect her when they ambushed her! If I were there to kill that bitch, Sam might not have been taken! If I were there to kill that monster, she might not even be hurt! It's all because she wanted to keep me SAFE, and now she is anything BUT safe!"

"Sam was right about leaving you behind." Zevran's voice became colder with each word. "Had you been there, you would have been captured if you're lucky, or killed if you're not. Even if you tried to fight your way out, you couldn't possibly take down two dozens heavily armed and armored guards. Is your skull truly that thick you can't even see it?"

Alistair's fists clenched tightly at his sides, so much so he didn't notice they were trembling. Nor did he really realize one of them had raised up and drawn back until Leliana put a firm hand on his arm and pushed his fist down forcefully. "Alistair! Don't!" said the bard. "We all want to get Sam out safely!"

Zevran's expression remained cold as ice, but there was something inside those amber eyes that Alistair never thought he'd see in this seemingly perverted killer. When Samantha's name was mentioned, there was a flash of distress showing before the assassin masked it.

There was a strange connection between his Sammy and this elf, despite the crazy fact that he tried to kill them before. Alistair was not blind enough not to see it, although he did wish he were blind enough to ignore it fully. He had seen them fighting side by side, as they often did during battles. It was indeed a sight to behold, if Alistair would allow himself to ignore the acidly feeling in his gut, and simply admire the speed and the grace of their almost synchronized movements. Four blades danced around their enemies as their wielders spun and rolled about, both with long blonde hair trailing behind them, highlighting every move. At times, they fought side by side, sometimes back to back. But they were always in sync, complimenting each other. It was a dance Alistair could only watch from afar with a strange mixtue of admiration and jealousy, but could never join. For that, he hated Zevran.

He could almost see them fighting Howe side by side, seeking the revenge Samantha had long sought, while it should have been him fighting by her side, shielding her from that monster's blade. He could almost see the assassin's arms around his Sammy when she broke down at the end of the battle, while it should have been his arms around her, comforting her when she needed him the most.

Alistair despised the assassin more than ever. He hated Zevran for being in his place by his Sammy's side; he hated Zevran for not being able to protect her; and most of all, he hated Zevran for being right about the situation.

But, despite the fact that his mind betrayed him and agreed with the assassin, his heart was not about to give in even an inch. Alistair would never, ever, forgive himself if he did not even try to get Samantha out. Fort Drakon be damned, even if she were held within the heart of the Dark City, Alistair would chop down everything in his way to get her back.

Everything and everyone.

He took a step back, still holding the other man's gaze. "Sam might tell you to keep me 'safe'," he uttered that word as though it was the dirtiest curse. "And she might be angry with me when I saved her. But I would rather have her yell at me for the rest of our lives than to live without her. Maker be my witness, I will go to Fort Drakon, I will get her out, and if you even _try_ to stop me, you will be the first to fall among many!"

"She gave herself up to protect you, you idiot! And now you deliver yourself straight to their front door?" chided Zevran.

Leliana inched between the two stubborn men. "Listen, both of you!" She turned to the assassin. "Zev, I know what Sam said, but even if we were to go without him, he would still follow. Or worse: attempt to storm the fort by himself." The glint in Alistair's eyes proved the bard was indeed correct in her assessment. "Let him join us, at least we could make sure he wouldn't do anything... reckless."

Zevran stared hard at her for a long moment. "One stupid move, and I'll send him straight back to the mansion and tie him up myself." The assassin let out a heavy sigh. "Sam would have my hide if there's a scratch on him."

The bard's full lips curled into a faint smile then turned to Alistair. "You have to do as we say. We can't storm the fort. We have to come up with a way to get in and sneak out with Sam. We will move tonight."

Alistair scowled. "She can't wait that long if she's injured! What if they executed her before that?"

"I told her I would go save her," claimed Zevran. "She would find a way to delay anything. I have faith in my little protege, do you not?"

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. Much to his dismay, Zevran was once again correct. He should have faith in her. How could Zevran know his Sammy better than he did? He was blinded momentarily, not just by fear, but by guilt and jealousy.

"Once the sun sets, we move," Alistair grudgingly compromised.

"Another infiltration. We need to come up with a disguise, again," Zevran muttered underneath his breath as he tapped his chin, thinking fast to come up with a plan. He then cast a look at Leliana. "How would you like to play dress up one more time, my dear?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

"Nothing you couldn't handle, I assure you." Amber eyes twinkled, and a sly smirk appeared on the assassin's lips. "A whore."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up high as he braced himself for an angry retort from Leliana. Yet, the bard just smiled sweetly at the assassin. "I prefer the term 'companion'."

"A whore, a pimp... Or should I say, a 'companion', a 'business man'..." He pointed at Leliana then himself, before shooting a glance at Alistair. "And his bodyguard."

Leliana nodded. "That would allow Alistair to be properly armed and armored."

"We will go at night," said Zevran. "The darkness will provide us cover once we get her out. And it has to the be at the time, just before the guards change shift..."

"They will be all too ready to leave after their long shift, and won't bother with us for too long," reasoned Leliana.

"Beauty and brain, what a rare combination!"

Leliana pointedly ignored Zevran before turning to Alistair. "I'm very sorry we couldn't do anything to protect her during the arrest. But we will get Sam back tonight." Her sympathetic gaze was something Alistair desperately needed yet violently rejected.

Whether he liked it or not, both Zevran and Leliana knew about his relationship with Samantha more than anyone else. More than ever, he needed their support. Yet, guilt was devouring him from the inside. It was all his fault. If only he had the wit to outsmart her reasoning, the strength to not give in to those pleading blue eyes, he would have been there with her, protecting her as he should. Then, perhaps then, instead of being thrown in a dungeon in Fort Drakon, she might have been back in his arms, safe from harm.

If only he had followed her out of the door this morning.

"Don't blame yourself," said Leliana as if she could read his mind. Although more likely it was his face that she was reading. "Blame Anora and her father."

Zevran snorted loudly. "I still say I should go slit her throat and dump her in the river."

Alistair glanced at the assassin, the hint of concern hidden underneath the anger was genuine. And he wholeheartedly agreed with Zevran's sentiment. It was something he never thought that would happen. Perhaps, they could finally find some common ground, after all.

"She will pay for it, trust me. Once I get the throne," vowed the Prince. The thought of taking the throne no longer felt terrifying. It wasn't merely about revenge, Alistair truly felt in his gut that he could not let Anora win. If she won, judging from her ruthlessness, both Wardens would be executed. Was that not what Samantha had been telling him all along? Once again, his Sammy was right. For her, and for the sake of the country, he needed to win the Landsmeet. But to do so, he needed her, as his partner-in-crime, as his trusted adviser, and most of all, as the love of his life. He needed her now, and forever. "Let's get Sam out first. There is something I need to ask her." Ignoring his friends' questioning look, Alistair marched back to his room and prepared for what could have been the most important mission of his life, with conviction and determination fit to be king.


	34. I Want to Break Free

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: A big thanks to RandomWittering for beta-ing this chapter.

Zevran's mad dagger-throwing skill was proudly displayed in the game, so it's not an exaggeration.

"Improvisation. The true mark of a warrior" is a quote by Jarlaxle from Servant of the Shard, by R.A. Salvatore.

Thanks for sticking with me through all thirty four chapters. About 19 more to go. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Thirty Four: I Want to Break Free

* * *

Samantha groaned and stirred. Delicate features scrunched up in pain before she slowly cracked open her eyes. The sight of a filthy ground greeted her. She rolled onto her back and grunted when a sharp pain stabbed at her side, rudely reminding her of its presence. The stone floor underneath her was cold, sending chills to her bones; the stench in the air was unbearable, making her stomach sick.

After a moment of struggle, sky blue eyes finally opened fully. She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision before surveying her surrounding. She was in a small cell in Fort Drakon. She remembered walking in to the fort with all the poise she could muster. Loghain's men had been relatively polite to her, due to her late father's status, but when she was handed over to the guards at the fort, the Cousland name no longer carried any weight, and she became no more than just another prisoner waiting for execution.

The once pampered Lady Cousland had been to too many undesirable places in Ferelden in the past year, but this one had to be the worst.

Her head was pounding with intense pain, painful enough to make her vomit had her stomach not been empty. Fine brows knitted together, trying to will the pain to stop but alas, it would take more than her strong will to heal her. Her eyes darted to the wall next to her, old rusty blood stains decorated the dirty stone surface. The fresh red blood on the wall was hers, caused by her head hitting it when the guards unceremoniously tossed her into the cell like a discarded rag doll. She raised a shaky hand to the side of her forehead and winced when she touched a nasty bump. The blood around the wound had already dried and Samantha wondered how long she had been unconscious.

Despite her predicament, Samantha took no small amount of comfort in the fact that she had been captured alone. Her friends had been spared, and Alistair was still safe and sound. Whatever crime Loghain planned to pin on her, at least Alistair's hands were clean, for he had not even been involved with the rescue mission. She alone would take all the blame. Even if Loghain executed her, there would still be one last Warden out there to fight the Blight, and one good King for the country.

If Loghain executed her _before _Zevran found a way to rescue her.

Zevran would come for her, as he had promised during their little ruse. But could even the assassin penetrate the most secure fort in Ferelden? Samantha chided herself for doubting her ever-so resourceful mentor and shoved that thought away. She had to have faith in her dear friend. So far, he had not once disappointed her.

She fought to sit up, clenching her teeth hard not to scream as the cut on the side of her torso protested against her movements. She coughed and tasted the remnants of blood inside her mouth. Her hair had come undone during the struggle with the guards. Samantha reached behind her head and pulled out a single long hairpin that had stubbornly clung onto some tangled strands of hair, its twin was long lost somewhere. Golden hair fell haphazardly over her shoulders, sticky with blood and sweat. Her wool dress, now stained with blood and dirt, did nothing to keep the chill off.

The sharp pain in her side continued to scream for her attention as she shifted to lean against the stone wall. Her dirty hand instinctively nursed her side and felt wetness on the fabric of her dress. Samantha groaned in dismay and a glance down at her hand confirmed her suspicion; she was bleeding. She examined her wound as closely as she could in the dimly lit cell. The cut was long, but thankfully it wasn't terribly deep. Seeing blood seeping out of the wound on her torso reminded her too much of her father's last moment.

The memory of that fateful night as well as the chill in her bones caused a violent shiver through her body. Pain in both her head and her body simultaneously assaulted her. For once, she welcomed the pain, for it washed away the image of her dying father. She comforted her pounding head with an icy hand. Her face was burning, covered with sweat, yet her body was shaking from a chill. It wasn't until after her head had been cooled a little by the coldness of her hand that she realized she was actually running a fever.

Even if Zevran managed to find a way to infiltrate the fort, Samantha grimly wondered if he would make it in time.

Lying helplessly in a cell and slowly dying from a bleeding wound was not an option either. If Loghain thought she would go down without a fight, then he did not know her at all.

Her hand reached down to her upper thigh. She could feel the Rose's Thorn still in the sheath, hidden underneath the thick wool fabric of her long dress. At least she was not completely alone. She breathed out a sigh of relief and glanced around the windowless room. Through the metal bars of her prison cell, she studied as much of the dungeon as she could see, taking in every detail of her surroundings. There were a few cells around, all of them were empty. Only one guard was posted to watch over one helpless woman, certainly it would suffice. Or so they thought.

Samantha closed her eyes and took a moment to recall certain techniques she had learned from the assassin, particularly ones about fast and clean death. In her mind, she replayed the lessons with Master Arainai over and over again, until she was confident she could make one single fatal strike, for there would only be one chance.

Blue eyes reopened, now fierce with determination. She knew exactly what to do. But, she had one worry, the length of her dagger might not be ideal to be wielded through the iron bars. As she glanced down idly, her gaze landed on the discarded hairpin in her lap. A rare tiny smirk curled up on her lips. Improvisation was the true mark of a warrior, or so she had been told. But a true warrior she had no desire to become, she only wanted to survive.

Concealing the hairpin in her palm, Samantha struggled to get on her feet. As the searing pain in her side caused her to scream, this time she didn't bother to mask it.

Her loud scream of pain tore through the silence in the dungeon.

She needed to get the lone guard's attention. And she had it.

Frustratingly, the attention was short-lived. The guard merely tossed a glance in her direction, then promptly ignored her and went back to the solitary card game he was busy playing.

Still she was not about to give up. Staggering to the locked gate with an exaggerated limp, the distressed Lady Cousland pressed her free hand to her wound and called out, "Excuse me, Ser. Please! I-I need help! I'm injured!"

When the guard spared another moment to look at her, Samantha raised her palm up shakily then deliberately gasped at the sight of her own blood.

But still, the guard was unimpressed by the display. "Prisoners die from injuries everyday. Saves us the trouble of execution."

"Perhaps normal prisoners do. But I am the surviving daughter of the late Teyrn Bryce Cousland, and last of the Cousland line. Teyrn Loghain will want to interrogate me personally regarding the incident in Highever. Do you want the Teyrn to interrogate my corpse instead?" That had gotten his attention. Samantha continued her bluff, "If Teyrn Loghain wanted me dead, he would have ordered his men to kill me when they captured me, would he not? He wants me alive, because I will be useful to him. The last Cousland standing behind the Teyrn would further secure his position of power. However, the Teyrn is a busy man, he may not be able to find time for me in the next few days. By then, I would either bleed dry or die from infection. And _you_will be responsible for my death. Teyrn Loghain would not be pleased. "

The guard chewed over the points she had made, then reluctantly moved away from the not-so comfortable wooden chair and approached the cell. "Let me see your injury."

Playing the part of a defenseless and powerless damsel in distress, Samantha stepped forward gingerly as though she was intimidated by his presence. She leaned towards the metal bar, allowing the guard take a close look at her bleeding wound.

"Hmph, just a gash. All you whiny nobles are the same," the guard declared, then straightened up and turned to leave.

It was the chance she had been waiting for. Her bloody hand shot out through the bars and covered the guard's mouth while forcefully slamming his head back into the metal bars, taking him by surprise. The hairpin firmly grasped in her other hand followed immediately and hovered over the deadliest point on his exposed throat. Samantha stabbed the hairpin into his flesh as hard as she could, then yanked it out before the guard could grab her wrist through the inevitable yet feeble struggle. Dropping the makeshift weapon, her hands then quickly shifted on the weakened guard's head and snapped his neck with a sharp twist.

Her movements were fast and precise, Zevran would have been proud.

His muffled scream followed by the sickening crack of a broken neck were the sounds of victory to the first step of her escape. Samantha didn't release her tight grip on the guard until he had stopped twitching. She reached for his keys through the bars and unlocked the cell door, then stripped his sword from him as soon as she was free.

Her wound once again viciously protested her movements, her breaths becoming more labored. Making a cut in the hemline of her dress, Samantha ripped off a long strip of fabric. Using it as a makeshift bandage, she wrapped it around her torso as tightly as she could. Grimacing in pain, she secured the bandage with a knot.

Just then, hearing sounds coming from outside, Samantha froze momentarily in fear. She quickly shoved the negative feeling away; this was not the time to feel but to act, if she wanted to survive.

She looked up at the flight of stairs leading to a door, then quickly glanced about the room, trying to come up with a plan. The room was dark, with no window and only one exit. Blue eyes landed on the nearby torch on the wall – the only light source in this dungeon. Samantha raced to the torch and plucked it from the wall bracket. She dumped it straight into the bucket of drinking water, efficiently extinguishing the single light source of the room.

The room was pitch black when the door flew open. The new guard who had just rushed in was caught by surprise. The heavy door swung shut behind him before he could react. "What in Andraste's name? We're under att-" His words were cut short when he stumbled on the stairs and fell off the steps.

His voice, his scream, and his curses, all guided Samantha to his direction. Trained by both the assassin and the bard, her steps were soundless. She listened for a second when the guard was scrambling to get up, making certain of his position in the dark. Then came the sword, thrusting out with all her might, aiming to penetrate the armor that he was wearing. She felt resistance as the blade sank into his chest and his simultaneous ear-splitting scream confirmed the stab. The Rose's Thorn followed up in a flash. The flat side of the blade slapped horizontally onto the guard's chest, then sliding its way up until it hit his chin. Confirming the position of his throat in the dark via the path of her blade, Samantha brought the Rose's Thorn down a notch and finished with a quick slash, cutting his throat open with its razor sharp blade.

Warm blood splattered on her face. Samantha grimaced in disgust and yanked the sword out of his chest, just in time to hear more commotion from outside the thick wooden door. More guards were coming. There was no time to waste. It was now or never.

Judging from the position of her latest victim's body, she could roughly guess where the stairs were. Samantha tripped over the first step in the dark, but quickly regained her balance. With careful steps of her feet, she climbed to the top of the stairs and headed straight. Based on her memory of the layout, she knew the door would be a few steps in front of her. The indistinct sound of the commotion outside became louder, confirming that she was indeed near the exit.

The noise from outside suddenly grew louder, indicating more guards were coming her way. Instead of rushing out, she positioned herself close to the exit. She had to take advantage of this battlefield she had so nicely set up. Using the darkness as her cover, she could take out more guards here than she would outside this room.

She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, wisely choosing to stay on the hinges side of the door. The door itself would provide sufficient cover once it was opened, and that precious second of concealment would give her the element of surprise and a perfect chance to make her strike. It was the tiny details as such that would make a difference in battles - another lesson from Master Arainai. Samantha waited patiently for her next victim to enter, praying to the Maker that there would be only one or two guards at a time.

The pain from her wound was almost unbearable, her burning fever had weakened her significantly, but she had to fight. For her own sake, and for Alistair's.

Predictably, the door flew open once more as another guard rushed in. Light from outside illuminated her target momentarily before the door slammed shut once more, the sudden darkness confusing the guard. Without giving him a second to recover, her borrowed sword came forth and drove up into his torso. The guard screamed in pain. Samantha gave the sword a twist as she pushed the blade even further in, silencing him by ending his life. Noise from outside seemed to die down temporarily and she knew she had to seize this one chance of escaping before more guards arrived. Pulling the sword out of her third victim, Samantha quickly rolled the fallen body off the stairs and opened the door.

* * *

Alistair grunted and kicked the body off his sword. Being in disguise only granted them violence-free entry to half of the fort. They had since carved a bloody path straight through the heart of the dungeon. The Prince glanced around the latest room they had stormed into. There was only one single door at the end of the room, most likely leading to yet another room with more guards standing in his way. Meanwhile his Sammy was lying somewhere deep in the dungeon, helplessly bleeding her life away. Alistair took a sharp breath and shook his head to clear that gruesome image from his mind. The thought of getting to her cell only to find her dead, scared him to the core.

"I saw two guards rushing to that door, Sam has to be in there somewhere," said Leliana as she dispatched the second guard on her side, providing Alistair a glimpse of a light at the end of the darkest tunnel he had ever been in.

Alistair quickly rushed to the end of the room. Much to his annoyance, Zevran was faster. The assassin rolled past the last guard charging at him, and without even looking, he tossed his small dagger back with a flick of his wrist. As if the Maker Himself had guided his aim, the short blade landed squarely in the guard's left eye. Irritated by the assassin's flamboyant display of his skill, Alistair drove his sword into the dying guard's chest in frustration, mercifully ending his life, then trailed behind Zevran and ran towards the closed door.

But neither men were fast enough. The door flew open before they could reach for it. A slender figure dashed out but stopped short at the sight of them. There, in all her bloody glory, holding one blade in each hand, stood the Lady Cousland. Golden hair disheveled, wool dress tattered and torn, blood splattered over her face and clothes, covered with dirt and sweat, but Alistair had never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Sam!" Leliana cried out in relief.

Zevran flashed a wide grin as he stopped in front of his dear protege. "Did you miss me, my dear?"

Before she could even respond with one single word, Alistair rushed in and crushed her in his arms, holding her tightly as though she would be taken away from him the second he let go. "Thank the Maker you're safe," he mumbled underneath his breath then kissed the top of her head repeatedly.

But the relief was short-lived. He felt her tense in his arms and heard a muffled cry. Alarmed, Alistair released his grip on her and stepped back to examine her with deep concern. Her face was twisted in pain; dried blood had caked on a wound on her temple, dark bruises formed on her left cheekbone. He winced and drew a sharp breath as his eyes traced down to her makeshift bandage. Blood had seeped through and darkened the fabric, forming a random pattern which seemed to be expanding by the second. He winced from the mere sight of it. The knot came back in his gut, now tighter than ever. "Maker's breath..."

He could tell she was taking a few long but shaky breaths, making a tremendous effort to hide her pain. When those sky blue eyes finally looked up at him, he noticed they were strangely glassy and unfocused. "You shouldn't have come..." she chided weakly.

"And miss being the hero to the pretty lady? Perish the thought..." His quiet reply was half-hearted he realized, and his smile was forced. Had he not been worried sick of her injuries, he would have come up with a wittier and more flirtatious response to bring a lovely smile to her face.

Although she was finally in his arms, she was far from being safe. Zevran and Leliana had downplayed the extend of her injury, and for reasons his mind understood, yet his heart disagreed with. He could see her consciousness slipping away with each labored breath she took. Brushing her hair off her face, his gloved hand pressed onto the skin that had been dampened by sweat. Even through the leather glove, he could feel her face burning. Alistair frowned in alarm, "You're running a fever."

Leliana came up and touched Samantha's forehead with her bare hand. "Burning," claimed the bard with a worried glance at the Prince.

"Impressive work you've done inside there, my dear Sam," said Zevran with a proud grin as he came back from inspecting the dungeon. "Fighting in the dark to gain advantage? Smart lass!"

Samantha managed a weak smile, but the light in her eyes began to dim. The knot in Alistair's gut tightened up even further. "Sammy..."

"We should get out before the new shift of guards arrive," urged Leliana.

Samantha nodded and straightened up, shifting the blades in her grips.

Alistair could read her face, almost as well as she could read his. She was summoning her last bit of energy, getting ready to fight. But he was not about to let her. "Stay with Leliana," he instructed. "Zevran and I will clear a path."

"I can fight," Samantha protested, her eyebrows dipping in mild irritation.

Blue eyes stared at him, pleading with a silent 'please'. He had given in to this particular look too many times in the past, but this time he wouldn't. He could see the struggle she had to put up just to keep herself from toppling. Alistair steeled himself and shook his head. "No," he refused firmly. "I almost lost you, love. I won't lose you again." There was no room for negotiation in his tone, nor did he give her any chance to protest further. It was for her sake, and his own. After a quick kiss on her forehead, he turned to the bard and said, "Keep an eye on her."

The two men shared a glance and a subtle nod. With that, the Prince and the assassin led on and carved a bloody path out of the most secure dungeon in Ferelden, working together seamlessly for the first time since they'd met, but most likely not for the last.

* * *

Samantha ran along with the bard, trailing behind the two most important men currently in her life. One was her love, the reason she fought; the other was her mentor, the reason she survived. Never before had she thought they would see eye to eye, let alone work so well together.

Leliana stopped in her tracks when the sound of battle arose from around the corner. And it wasn't a moment too soon. Samantha doubled over when a searing pain assaulted her from her injured side, clenching her teeth tight to silence her own scream.

"Oh, Maker..." Leliana immediately put a comforting arm around her. "We are almost out, Sam."

She fought to control the pain and nodded faintly. Straightening up, she pressed her back against the stone wall, and took a moment to catch her breath. Beside the pain in her torso, neither the burn on her face nor the chill in her bones would leave her be, Samantha shivered violently. Her breaths were now shallow and rapid, her vision began to blur. The stolen sword had become too heavy in her hand, so much so she'd had to drop it. But her grip on the Rose's Thorn remained firm, she would not lose her beloved dagger, for it was a gift from a brother she would never meet again.

The sound of battle soon died down. Leliana peeked around the corner to confirm it was safe before hooking her arm around Samantha's waist and guided her. Samantha staggered along, struggling to keep up while the stone floor underneath her boots shifted every step of her way. Suddenly the floor rose up higher and she felt Leliana's arm around her tighten, pulling her back away from the ever swaying ground.

"Come on, Sam. Please hang on..."

And hang on she did, stubbornly so. Her lungs were burning with every labored breath she took; the solid ground became more wobbly with every step she stumbled. But with the help from her dear friend, the two women caught up with their male companions, who had cleared the way and anxiously waiting for them by the front gate.

"Alistair!" She heard Leliana cry out. Yes, Alistair... He was safe, she could rest now.

Everything swirled around her. Her knees buckled, her muscles gave in and her eyes rolled back. The Rose's Thorn slipped from her grip and dropped onto the ground with a dull ring.

And then, there was nothing.


	35. I Love You, Sincerely

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: A big thanks to RandomWittering for beta-ing this chapter.

Chapter title is from a theme from Xenosaga III original soundtrack. Thank you for stopping by. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty Five: I Love You, Sincerely

* * *

He had never carried something that was so light, yet felt so heavy at the same time. The only woman he had ever loved was cradled in his arms, her life hanging in the balance. The thought of losing her forever weighted heavily in his heart.

Time was running against them, he had to get her back to Wynne before it was too late. No, it would not be too late; she would make it through the night, she _had_ to make it through. Alistair instilled that single thought into his own mind repeatedly. He had to, otherwise, he would break and crumble.

Alistair dashed through the dark streets of Denerim. He wasn't too familiar with the shortcuts they were taking. Truth be told, he didn't even know where he was. But he trusted Zevran to lead him to back Arl Eamon's mansion as quickly as possible.

'Trustworthy' wasn't the first word that came to mind to describe the assassin, nor was it the second, or the third. But something between them had changed, he had to admit grudgingly. They were now working together for the same goal, for the same woman – the one he loved, and the one the elf... Well, he didn't really know how the other man felt about his Sammy, and he wasn't entirely sure if he ever wanted to know. Alistair was once truly convinced that the ever sneaky assassin was using those so-called lessons as a devious ploy to get close to Samantha, that perhaps his often wise yet sometimes strangely naïve Sammy couldn't see through the elf's true intention. Yet, so far, Zevran had not made a single move on her, and she seemed comfortable around him. Alistair trusted her – of course he did – but he didn't trust the elf.

Until today.

Hidden underneath Zevran's cool and devil-may-care demeanor, Alistair spotted a genuine concern for Samantha. More than a few times since he came back from the rescue, Alistair noticed the assassin wore a grim look on his usual carefree face, when he thought no one was looking. Normally the clever elf would never let such details slip. Yet let slip he did, and Alistair knew why, for the assassin's expression often mirrored his own. The guilt of having Samantha taken away had not just plagued him, but Zevran as well. Never had he thought the seemingly callous assassin would feel anything beyond lust, but it would seem his Sammy was right about Zevran after all. And Alistair was glad to be wrong, because he knew he would not be able to save Samantha in time had he not had help tonight.

Zevran cast a quick glance back in Alistair's direction, then quickly motioned towards the path he intended to take before racing ahead to clear any ambushing bandits. The streets of Denerim had never been the safest ones to travel at night, especially this part of the town. Thugs were everywhere preying on helpless victims. Yet, Alistair knew it was the safest path in Ferelden, for clearing the way in front of them was the Crow of Antiva, trailing behind and watching their back was the spy of Orlais. Both were as dear to the woman he loved, as she was to them. For that, he was grateful.

Cold night air filled his lungs with each breath he took as he ran after the assassin. Alistair shifted his grip and held her closer to him, hoping to use his body – albeit through his armor – to provide enough warmth for the unconscious woman in his arms. A glance down at her face had the constant knot in his gut tightening. Gone was that subtle pink flush on her cheeks, her rosy lips had now become pale. A sheen of sweat covered her face, casting an eerie glow on her skin under the moonlight. The only sign of life was the barely noticeable rise and fall of her chest.

Blood – her blood – seeped through her makeshift bandage, dripping down the front of his armor as he ran through the city. More than enough had soaked through the fabric of his clothing; he could felt the warm wetness against his skin. Her life slowly slipped away with each drop of blood that drained from her body, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even holding her this close, he could not protect her, he could not keep her safe. Alistair had never felt more useless in his life.

"Don't you dare leave me..." he mumbled under his breath as he picked up his pace and raced on into the night.

* * *

"WYNNE!" Zevran rushed ahead into the mansion, calling out for the mage.

Even though it was past midnight, none of their companions seemed to be asleep. Eamon and Wynne came out as soon as they heard their arrival.

"Thank the Maker you are back!" Eamon eyed the lone assassin. "Where's Alistair?"

It was then the Prince dashed in through the main hall, holding the battered and barely alive body of Lady Cousland in his arms. He looked past Eamon and focused only on the elder mage - his last and only hope to save his Sammy.

Wynne's brows furrowed at the sight. "To her room, quickly now."

Alistair didn't need to be told twice. His long legs climbed the stairs three steps at a time, then raced through the hallway towards the guestroom, with Wynne trailing behind. Zevran was already there when he reached the room, holding the door open for him.

Alistair gently put her down on the bed and took a step back as Wynne arrived by the bedside. He had been running for Maker knows how long, carrying Samantha all the way through Denerim, yet he didn't feel tired at all. In fact, he didn't feel anything except for the painfully tight knot in his stomach. Nor did he notice anything around him as he watched the faint rise and fall of her chest, praying to the Maker every time she exhaled, she would draw another breath in.

It felt too surreal, almost as if he were once again trapped in the Fade. Except for the woman lying on the bed, everything around him was all but a blur, every sound in the room was muffled. He didn't know how long he had been standing there until he felt a tug on his arm and someone called his name. Even then, he had no idea how long that person had been trying to get his attention.

"Alistair," Leliana called out, with a hand on his arm. "Alistair."

He looked blankly at the bard.

"There is nothing you can do here. Go get some rest. We'll take care of her," said the red-headed woman gently.

Alistair took a long shuddering breath as though he had just woken up from a nightmare and looked around the room. By 'we', he noticed, she meant Wynne, herself, and... His eyes landed on the third woman in the room. Skin as pale as a ghost, hair as black as a raven, and her golden eyes forever cold.

Morrigan was too busy setting down a series of potions by the bedside to notice his gaze, but it didn't take her long to feel she was being watched. Golden eyes shot up and met hazel ones, both scowled at the same time.

"What?" Morrigan asked testily.

It was in his instinct to snap right back when it came to dealing with that apostate. Somehow, Morrigan had always brought the worst out of him, right from the first time they'd met in the Korcari Wilds. Perhaps it was due to his templar training, as Samantha had so kindly pointed out a few times, although he would rather think it was because of the witch's unpleasant personality - sneaky, crafty, untrustworthy, and mean, just to name a few. They so very often fought like cats and dogs, yet, right now, he couldn't bring himself to torment the mage. Nor could he even tease her a bit for being helpful for a change, since he was truly grateful that she was there for his Sammy. However much they might hate each other, Alistair couldn't deny the effectiveness of some of Morrigan's potions.

He dropped his gaze from the pale face of the apostate to the even paler one of his love. "Please take care of her..."

The slight arch of her fine brow was as much as Morrigan allowed herself to slip. "I... will," she said flatly before turning back to her potions.

Alistair took a step back, then another one, slowly backing out of the room he had spent the night in just last night. Lying on the same bed was the lovely woman who had been so lively a day ago when she'd pinned him down onto the mattress, who now remained motionless as Leliana was carefully cutting off the makeshift bandage and wool dress, revealing the ugly long cut on her torso. Blood was flowing steadily from the wound, running down to the stack of thick towels underneath her. Deep red contrasted gruesomely with pale white skin. The blood in his veins froze at the sight of hers seeping out. As much as he wanted to look away, Alistair could only stand there and stare, fervently making deals with the Maker to take him instead of her. He knew it was a selfish request, losing him would shatter her just as much as it would break him to lose her. But his heart and mind had been in utter chaos ever since he had witnessed her collapse by the gate of Fort Drakon. She would forgive him for being selfish, he knew she would, just as she had forgiven him on every idiotic mistake he had ever made.

A firm hand appeared on his shoulder to guide him out of the room. His eyes remained on Samantha until the door shut and blocked his view, snapping him out of his tangled thoughts.

It wasn't until the other man spoke up that he realized leading him out of the room, and now standing by him in this empty hallway was none other than the assassin he had somehow learned to trust.

"She'll make it," said Zevran, breaking the silence, then tried for a halfhearted smirk, "Don't let her pretty face fool you, that woman is a fighter."

Alistair drew a long and shaky breath, letting the chill within the stone walls cool off his bubbling emotions before both his head and his heart exploded. The massacre in Highever, the Joining, the Tower of Ishal, not to mention countless battles between now and then, there were too many ways Samantha Cousland could have died in the past year, yet she had survived. As much as he hated to admit it, Zevran was right once again. "That she is..." Alistair agreed quietly. "She is stronger than me in so many ways."

"I won't argue with that. But she might not agree with you."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at the assassin. "What do you mean?"

Zevran merely shrugged. "She thinks very highly of you. Although I can't say I agree with her point of view." He paused when Alistair gave him a skeptical look. "What? You think she chose to be with you just because of your dashing good looks?" Amber eyes rolled with a snort.

"I... I never..." Alistair stumbled to find words.

There were many times he wondered why the daughter of the late Teyrn would choose him, and never had he found an answer that was remotely satisfying. Surely it wasn't because he was a prince, if anything, it should send her running the other way. At times, he had thought perhaps she loved him because he made her laugh, but when he saw the many times she laughed just as happily at something Zevran said, doubts surfaced, along with that acid feeling of jealousy inside his gut. She believed in him and supported him unconditionally; she loved him for who he was – however idiotic he could be sometimes, that much he was certain. But thinking highly of him? That he had never considered, perhaps because he had never once thought highly of himself his entire life. Now, he was more curious than ever, what did she say about him in front of Zevran?

Maybe it was a bad idea to pursue this line of question, after all it was Zevran he was talking to, but Alistair was never one to step away from bad ideas. If anything, he had the tendency to be attracted to them like a moth to flame. "What did she say about me?"

Zevran opened his mouth to answer. Or he was about to. But the assassin seemed to change his mind at the last moment as his lips twisted into a wicked half-grin. "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?" he suggested teasingly.

Alistair sent a mild glare at him before he realized what Zevran was doing. The assassin was giving him something to look forward to. Looking a bit sheepish, he nodded. "Fine, I'll ask her when she wakes up..."

The grin on the elf's face just widened. "If talking is what you two choose to do after enduring such an ordeal. Personally, I would express myself in some other way."

It took a second for the meaning behind those words to sink in, but when it eventually did, Alistair's face tinted a faint shade of pink as he stared at the elf incredulously. "You can't be serious! You think I'd think of _that_ right now?"

Zevran laughed, perhaps for the first time since this morning, cutting off whatever sensible reasons Alistair could come up with, as well as the dreadful tensions both men had been feeling for hours. "Why not?" asked the assassin innocently. "It's much better than whatever you've been thinking, is it not?"

Normally, Alistair would hate it when Zevran teased him like this, yet the circumstances were anything but normal. Tension drained from him despite himself, albeit only slightly. He had to admit the elf was right, sex was definitely a more appealing topic to think of than death, however inappropriate it might be. Shaking his head, suppressing a weak chuckle, Alistair continued with his feeble defense, "She's seriously injured, for Andraste's sake, how could we-, I mean, even if she wanted to... No."

"Then you are not creative enough to think of ways to get by that little problem." Zevran smirked before giving him a mock critical look over. "Although I wouldn't let you touch me, if I were Sam. Look at the bloody and sweaty mess you are." The assassin frowned in disapproval. "Tsk tsk, go take a hot bath and wash up before she wakes up to see you like this. She's not that type who gets turned on by blood."

Mildly annoyed by the elf's insight, Alistair raised an eyebrow at him. "And how do you know what 'type' she is?"

Again, Zevran laughed. "I've slept with enough women, probably even more than you've talked to." Amber eyes twinkled. "She's the type who responds well to gentle kisses and touch, no? But once you get her going, that feisty side of hers will show, and that's when the fun begins..." he trailed off, watching the other man's expression like a hawk.

And Alistair did not have to utter a single word, the crimson color on his face said it all. On one hand, he was thankful that Zevran provided much needed distraction from his exploding mind, yet on the other hand, he absolutely hated how well Zevran seemed to know his Sammy, so much so that the elf was able to see through such a private side of her that Alistair thought _he _was the only one who ever knew.

"Aha! Just as I suspected," said the assassin slyly. Ignoring the glaring hazel eyes, Zevran turned and walked away, with a swagger Alistair could never achieve. But the assassin paused to give him one last piece of advice. "Do take a bath, my friend. She finds you sexiest when you are all clean and shaved."

Alistair could only stared dubiously at the retreating form of the elf, not quite sure if he wanted to thank the other man or kill him.

* * *

Giving in to Zevran's suggestion, he took a bath to wash off the blood and sweat. Still, time didn't go by any faster when he was occupied by a mundane physical task. All clean but not at all relaxed by the hot bath, he returned to the corridor outside her room, and paced up and down the hallway. To his mild disappointment, Zevran was nowhere to be seen; Alistair was rather surprised at himself for wishing the elf to be there.

The room behind the closed door was ominously quiet. Alistair stepped in front of it with his hand raised, about to knock. But he stopped himself. Instead, he pressed his ear to the wooden surface, hoping against hope that he could pick up whatever conversation was going on in there.

There was nothing but dreadful silence.

His heart began to sink. She would not leave him, would she? Like his mother did, or Duncan. Alistair shook his head firmly, disgusted by his own lack of faith. Zevran was right: his Sammy was a fighter. She was fighting for her own life and he couldn't do a single thing to help her. Alistair absolutely hated feeling this helpless. Pushing himself away from the door, Alistair began to pace around once again, wearing out the rug underneath his boots with each step he took. Samantha was right, he couldn't help but muse, Eamon would need some new rugs soon.

As though the Maker took pity on him, the door suddenly swung open, saving him from driving himself crazy. Alistair blindly rushed through the doorway, almost colliding with an exiting Morrigan. Holding a basket full of empty potion vials, the mage glared at him. "Watch where you are going."

Alistair opened his mouth to apologize, but his mind skipped a few steps ahead. "How is she?" he asked urgently as he peeked over her shoulder to see Wynne pulling a blanket over Samantha's body.

There was a flash of relief in those golden eyes before she arched an eyebrow at him. "She will live."

"Thank you," said Alistair quietly.

Perhaps Morrigan had not expected the sincere gratitude, her eyebrow raising another notch very briefly, before returning to her cool demeanor. "I did not do it for you." With that, the mage walked past him without waiting for a response.

With Morrigan out of his way, he immediately stepped into the room and went to Wynne's side. "How is she?" he asked again, with his eyes glued to the face of his sleeping beauty. She was still too pale, yet when he reached out to gingerly brush his fingertips on her cheek, her skin felt hot to the touch.

"The bleeding has stopped and the wound is closed. She has lost a lot of blood, and fever still lingers. She needs to rest, but she will be fine." Wynne looked up at him with a tired smile.

Alistair let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Thank the Maker..." he mumbled. "Thank you, Wynne."

The mage nodded and patted his arm, but the young man crushed her into a quick hug instead.

"Don't forget about the potions," reminded Leliana gently.

Alistair turned to the bard and noticed the bucket full of bloody towels she was holding. His Sammy's blood. Just how close had he come to losing her? Alistair didn't dare to ask that question.

"Ah, yes. When she wakes up, have her take one of those potions on the bedside table. It will speed up her healing," Wynne explained.

"I will." He nodded dutifully and watched as the much loved elder mage left the room.

Leliana smiled at him. "Stay with her. She'd want to see you when she wakes up. I'll take these away and tell Zev-"

"Tell Zev what?" Zevran casually walked into the room. His teasing smirk at the bard turned into a rare genuine smile as his gaze landed on the sleeping woman. "Told you she's a fighter." The assassin walked up to the bedside next to the other man, and reached one hand out to lightly touch his protege's forehead. A frown set on his face briefly.

Alistair wordlessly watched the elf. Just yesterday, he would have felt more than a hint of jealousy, but not now. Not anymore.

"Those are for her fever, yes?" The assassin tilted his head towards the potions on the bedside table.

"Yes, and for her wounds," said Leliana.

Zevran bent down to whisper something to Samantha's sleeping form. While Alistair was close enough to catch the words, to his dismay they were in Antivan. After casting one final glance at his dear protege, the assassin then firmly gripped Alistair's shoulder before he left with the bard, closing the door behind him.

At long last, they were alone once again. Alistair took a long breath as he glanced around the room. Everything still felt awfully surreal to him. Although it seemed a lifetime ago, it was just last night that she had been standing where he was, her nightgown sliding from her into a puddle on the floor. The same nightgown was now on her once again, and he had almost lost her.

Almost.

Alistair sat down on the bed. As careful as he was with his movements, the mattress still gave under his weight, disturbing her from her much needed slumber. Part of him regretted immediately for waking her, yet the relief of seeing those flustering lashes was overwhelming; Alistair broke into a wide grin.

Samantha blinked a few times, struggling to open her eyes. He waited patiently, every movement of hers was a thing of beauty in his eyes, for it meant she was not about to be taken away from him forever.

Sky blue eyes half-opened and met his. Confusion was written across her face, her pale lips parted slightly to talk, but Alistair answered her unspoken question, saving her the trouble to speak. "We are back at the Arl's mansion. You're safe now," he announced softly as he reached out to brush her hair off her face. His fingertips lingered around the skin near the wound on the side of her forehead before moving to the bruise on her cheekbone. His brows knotted and he vowed, "I won't let anyone touch you again."

She shook her head faintly, taking his hand in hers, she brought it to her lips and lightly kissed it. Words were no longer needed between them. She had done whatever was necessary, and she would do it again. For him.

It was his turn to shake his head. Leaning over, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead, then another one on her lips. He pulled back barely enough to look straight into her eyes and whispered, "Don't you ever leave me."

To that, her lips curled up weakly. Long lashes fluttered, threatened to close those blue eyes of hers.

Her skin was hot to the touch, her grip on his hand was weak and trembling. Her wound was closed but her fever remained. The knot in his stomach returned. "The potion." He sat up straight once again as he remembered the instructions from Wynne. "Sammy, stay with me. You have to drink this potion."

She scowled at the sight of the vial he was now holding in his hand, her pale lips pouted ever so slightly.

Alistair smiled gently at her displeasure. "I know you hate this, love. But you have to take it. Do this for me, please?" He gave her a pleading look he knew full well would cut through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. If he was honest with himself, he had been using it to his own advantage almost since they had first met. Just as he expected, the frown on her face melted as she gave him a look of defeat and wrinkled her nose at him. He grinned at his little victory. "That's my girl."

Helping her sit up carefully, Alistair handed her the vial with an encouraging smile. She gave him one last pleading look, but he steeled himself with a shake of his head. She conceded and downed the potion in one gulp. Her face grimaced in absolute disgust, yet, Alistair found her scrunched up features utterly adorable. He handed her a glass of water with a chuckle. "You can wash it down with a piece of pie this time. I asked the kitchen to bake you one earlier today."

She took a long drink of water as her sleepy eyes lit up at the magic word. "Pie?" she asked with her voice too coarse and weak.

"Aw, is that the first thing you want to say to me? Not 'oh, Alistair!', or 'my love', or even a simple 'I love you'? But 'pie'?" he teased her mercilessly with his hand over his heart as though she had stabbed him.

With a slight roll of her eyes and a faint smile, she put the glass of water down then held his face with both hands, pulling him close to capture his lips with hers. He let her pull him down with her as she laid back down on the bed, taking extra care not to touch her wounded side, never once breaking away from the tender kiss. He could taste the remnant of the potion in her mouth and had to grimace at the bitter taste. Although the taste of her made the bitterness of the potion quickly become a thing of the past.

He broke off reluctantly while he still maintained a good grip of control of himself. Looking down at her half-closed blue eyes, he grinned. "Was that better than a piece of pie?"

She merely smiled sweetly with a flush coming to her pale skin.

It was all the answer he needed. "Well, lucky for you, you get to have me and the pie. You must be hungry, I'll go get you some food."

He pushed himself away from her. But her hand reached for his arm before he could stand up from the bed. Alistair cast a questioning gaze at her.

"Stay..." The word barely made it through her lips. But he could hear her loud and clear.

"I'll be right back with your pie, love-"

"... I need you, not the pie..." Her fingers tightened around his arm, or at least she tried to. How weak both her grip and her voice were, truly worried him. Long lashes fluttered once again as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "Don't leave me," she whispered almost deliriously.

"Never," he vowed, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Not even if the Maker Himself came down and ordered me to."

The corners of her lips twisted up, one hand slid down on the mattress and patted on the empty side of the bed. "You look tired."

Alistair was not about to argue with that. He got up only to walk to the other side of the bed. Kicking off his boots, he climbed up and settled beside her, his arm slid under her shoulders to pull her closer, just as he had done so many times before.

And just as she had done so many times before, she shifted to curl up beside him, resting her head on his chest. "... love you," she mumbled.

Alistair ran his hand through her hair absently. He had come too close to losing her, and it was an experience he would never, ever, want to repeat. He had never given his future – their future – too much thought until today. The prospect of being king once scared him to no end, but now he knew nothing scared him more than to lose the woman he loved. He needed her, not just for the Blight, not just for the throne, but for himself. He needed her, even if he wasn't a Warden, even if he wasn't a king. He needed her simply because he was Alistair and she was Samantha, and he loved her more than life itself. Was that reason too selfish? Perhaps. But then, love was ultimately selfish, wasn't it?

All he knew was he could not lose her. Not ever. And that was enough of a reason for him to take a leap of faith.

"I know this is the least perfect moment, certainly the least romantic timing I can think of. But with the Landsmeet and the Blight going on, when would we ever have the perfect moment?" he began in a very low voice, almost in a whisper. "And if I don't say it now, I feel like my chest would explode..."

She shifted in his arms, settled into a more comfortable position. She remained quiet and patiently waited for him to continue, as he knew she would.

"The last time I wanted to ask you this, it was last week actually, that night at Redcliffe by the well. I should have asked then, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was scared. But, after this... nightmare – you being in prison and I couldn't be there to protect you – I realized there was nothing that would scare me more than losing you. I hated myself for letting you go to do something so dangerous without me. I probably could have done something to protect you, anything, so you wouldn't have to suffer through this. And I would hate myself even more if I couldn't even ask you one simple question, just because you might say no. I know you might not want to be trapped in a castle... Well, you grew up in a castle, so you're probably used to living in one..." He blinked, catching himself in the middle of babbling, as he often did when he was nervous. He sure sounded like a babbling idiot, didn't he? But she loved him, he knew, no matter how idiotic he might be.

Shaking his head to compose himself once more, he continued, "Anyway, like you said: it's in my blood. I have to do it, for the sake of the country, but you don't have to. And there might be... complications because we are both tainted. But after almost losing you, none of those details matters to me anymore. All I know is I don't want to be without you, whether I'm going to be king or not. Not now, not ever. I mean it." He paused and took a deep breath, gathering whatever courage he needed to utter the four words he meant to say a few days ago. "Will you marry me?"

After a long pause, she made a very faint noncommittal sound. "Mm..."

"... Is that a yes or a … no?" he asked cautiously, his gaze shifted from staring blankly at the ceiling down to the mop of golden hair just under his chin.

Then there was nothing but silence.

"Sammy?" Alistair frowned in confusion when there was no answer. "My love?" He shifted and pulled back a bit to look at the woman snuggling up to his chest. Blue eyes closed as she had peacefully drifted to sleep. Alistair didn't know if he should feel relieved or cheated. He let out a quiet chuckle and landed a soft kiss on her forehead before holding her close to his heart once more. "I'll do better next time."

She snuggled closer as if she could hear him.

A goofy smile spread across his face. "I love you. Always."


	36. Her Fairy Tale

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: This chapter is beta-ed by Jinx1983. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter Thirty Six: Her Fairy Tale

* * *

If the archdemon decided to suddenly descend upon her, crushing her to her early untimely death, Samantha would die the happiest woman in the entire Thedas at this very moment.

Her fever had gone and color had slowly returned to her face, all thanks to two days of uninterrupted rest and her over-protective knight in shining armor. Catering to her every need, and barring anyone but Wynne, Leliana and Zevran to visit her, Alistair spent almost every moment with her when she was awake.

Just like he did right now.

Late morning sun peeked through the curtains. Lying in bed with her head rested on his chest, Samantha stared sleepily at the light illuminating from the edges of the thick curtains, enjoying the soothing sensation of his fingers stroking her hair rhythmically. The effect of the potion she had taken the night before had worn off, the soreness of her wound returned. Yet, she was able ignore the discomfort completely, as long as she was lying there in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. It was almost hypnotizing.

She couldn't remember when she had last felt this peaceful and rested. It was before that night at Highever, before Duncan had taken her away, before she had met Alistair.

"It's been a year..." Samantha claimed very quietly, breaking the peaceful silence.

"Hm?"

"It's been a year since we met," she clarified.

"Has it only been a year?" he asked after a brief pause. "It felt like I've known you my entire life."

She let out a faint giggle. "Well, almost. The very first time we met, I was... six, perhaps?"

He chuckled at the memory. "Right... Fancy dress, pigtails..." He grabbed a handful of her long hair and held it on the side of her head to demonstrate his point.

She playfully swatted his hand away to end the teasing, only to make him laugh. "I was a little girl," she defended her old hairstyle. "I even believed in fairy tales back then."

"Fairy tales?"

She didn't know why she would even bring it up. Never had she openly talked about it to anyone. But then, Alistair was hardly just anyone. When she was with him, her guard was all but down, she was once again just Sammy Cousland. "You know... Princes and Princesses in their castles, living happily ever after..."

"I know what fairy tales are." There was more than a hint of smile in his voice, she didn't need to look at him to know he had that teasing grin on his face. "I just didn't know you like it."

"I used to," she corrected him immediately. "Like many little girls did. I used to believe in it, not anymore."

"Why not?" His hand returned to stroking her hair.

"Because I am old enough to realize fairy tales are just what they are: fairy tales." That stirred up something inside her, rudely reminding her of the dark cloud that had been looming over her head for quite sometime, which the blissfulness of the past two days had all but almost kicked it away. She continued in a whisper, "There's no happily-ever-after in life."

His hand paused as he remained quiet for a long moment. She knew he was thinking about her words, perhaps even guessing the meaning behind them. "Maybe... Maybe not," he responded rather wistfully.

She took his hand in hers instead and laced her smaller fingers with his. The bruises and cuts on his knuckles were healing; he was honest enough to tell her those were from a certain wall-punching incident when he found out she had been taken away - a punch that was meant for Anora but landed itself on the nearby wall, all because he couldn't bring himself to hit a woman, no matter how much he hated her. Samantha brought his hand up to her lips and softly kissed the bruises. "If life were a fairy tale, there wouldn't have been a dragon threatening our country."

"Hm... I don't know. They have dragons in fairy tales, don't they?"

She had to smile at his insight. He had always been smarter and wiser than he had given himself credit for, and for that she knew he would make a good king one day, with or without her by his side. "And the prince in fairy tale could lay around all day and still have killed the dragon by the end of the story. Alas, our lives are not fairy tales, my love, and this prince has to get up to prepare for the Landsmeet."

He groaned in dismay. She could feel the puppy eyes he was giving her. Lying in bed for one more day was too tempting of an idea to simply shrug off, especially after being on the road constantly for one year. Samantha wisely avoided looking at his face, lest her resolve would be shaken.

"I should meet with Eamon as well." Giving his hand one final kiss, she sat up slowly and winced when her wound protested against the movement.

"You still need to rest." Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, she felt his fingertips brushed down her back, luring her back to his arms.

The temptation of flopping back onto the mattress was almost too strong to fight. Samantha had to forcefully remind herself of the dire consequence of losing the Landsmeet: his possible death. "I will, but the Blight is not going to wait. Nor could Eamon delay the Landsmeet for long." Regrettably, she had to leave the comfort of his embrace and the warmth of the blanket to once again face the mounting duties that awaited her.

She heard a sigh of defeat behind her and the sound of him shuffling off the comfortable bed. Shaking her head with a smile, she moved to the dressing table and picked up a hairbrush. A glance at the mirror startled her; she could have sworn she just met a ghost of herself. Dark circles that had been plaguing her forever had gone, thankfully, due to much needed rest. But her skin had turned so pale it was almost translucent. Was that ghost what Alistair had been so lovingly hugging for the past two days?

She cast a glance at the reflection of the man she adored, and watched with amusement as he was searching for his discarded shirt. She would do the same for him, she knew, but it warmed her heart no less to know that he was there for her, no matter how bloody or ghostly she looked.

"Where are my boots?" he mumbled to himself as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Try the other side of the bed," she suggested with a soft giggle while untangling the knots in her hair with the hairbrush. "You climbed in bed from my side last night."

"I did?" he asked absently and shuffled to the other side, then claimed after he had found his boots, "Oh, I did."

She smiled fondly at his silliness. "I love you. Don't ever change."

Alistair raised his eyebrow at her through the mirror, seemingly surprised by the sudden declaration. "Are you sure you don't want me to change?" He flashed a teasing smile. "You'd have to find my boots for me every morning."

Despite the warm late morning sunlight he let in when he pulled the curtains aside, a dark cloud gathered inside her heart, bluntly reminding her of the remaining time they had left together. Once he won the Landsmeet, once the Blight was over, they would be forced to go separate ways. Two castles, two cities, along the same coastline, under the same stars.

But it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, was it not? Whoever said that had never gone through the pain of losing one's love.

Samantha grimaced at some unknown pain that had surfaced, and decided to divert her attention - and his - on a more productive topic. "Riordan said there are two hundred Wardens at the border. Once the civil war is over, we could bring them in to help with the Blight." She brushed her hair absently, her heart and mind was nowhere on this simple task.

"If there's time left after the Landsmeet." Alistair shook his head as he continued to get dressed. "And if by some miracle that I won."

Samantha looked at him sympathetically through the mirror. "You will," she encouraged him with such conviction as though she could see the outcome of the Landsmeet through a crystal ball. In truth, she knew they were far from being able to secure a victory. "Have you been studying?"

A guilty look flashed across his face. "I... was distracted."

"Alistair..." She turned to him and feinted a glare.

"I was worried about you! All those words in the books turned into Antivan or something. Nothing made sense!"

Putting down the hairbrush, she walked up to him and tapped the tip of his nose. "Next time, study."

"Next time, you stay out of danger and don't get hurt, so I can focus on the mountain of books," he bargained with a roll of his eyes. "I'm beginning to see why Cailan left every decision to Anora."

The mention of Cailan's name reminded her of the news she had accidentally received in the Arl of Denerim's mansion.

"What is it?"

"Hm?"

"You have that look in your eyes, what is it?" he asked again.

Samantha briefly considered how to deliver the news. "Loghain ordered his army to retreat before the darkspawn overwhelmed Cailan and the Wardens..."

Alistair scowled harshly at the information. "Why would he do that?"

She shook her head. "To wipe out the Wardens because he thought we were a ploy to bring Orlesians back to Ferelden..."

Mentioning the event at Ostagar was a sure way to sour his mood, she knew well enough, but he had to know the enemy he was facing. "But why kill Cailan?" asked Alistair after digesting the news.

That was a question she had asked herself after she had heard about the treason. "I don't know... Perhaps he knew about Cailan and Celene?" That was the only thing she could think of.

"Celene?"

"The Orlesian Empress," Samantha replied. "Leliana said they had an affair... Cailan was about to divorce Anora and marry Celene."

Warm hazel eyes widened at the revelation. "I... I don't know what to say..."

She shrugged feebly. "People grow apart. Political marriages are never meant to be happy; they are for convenience. Being happy is just a bonus..." she trailed off, wanting very much to avoid the topic before it could get to her sore spot.

Alistair frowned at that idea. "How could you marry someone you don't even love? You have to see them everyday and... sleep with them every night!"

She could either bury her head in the sand and avoid this topic like a coward, or face it head on with every bit of her courage like a Cousland. As much as it pained her, she chose to continue, "Yet, it's been done all the time throughout history, almost everywhere. Whether for the sake of uniting two houses or two countries. It's expected from some of us..."

The quiet look they exchanged told her he understood her meaning. There was a bitter taste in her mouth and a sharp twitch in her gut. She was once again reminded of their not-so distant future – no, not 'their' future, for he had his path and she had hers. She knew that day would come; deep down she had always known from the moment he first kissed her outside Redcliffe castle. Yet she had ignored it, just as she had ignored the pricking from the thorns of the rose in her hand while she was melting in his arms as they shared that kiss.

But now, it was finally time to wake up and face the future. Starting today.

The past two days had been an absolute bliss. If only she could wake up everyday to see that silly smile she loved so much. If only she could help him to locate his boots every morning.

If only she could spend the rest of her life with him.

"My love?" he quietly called out to her, saving her from the spiraling train of thought.

She looked up at him with a faint smile. He had been calling her with this endearment for the past two days. It was one of the few changes she noticed ever since she had been rescued.

He took both her hands in his and dropped his gaze down. His mouth opened to speak, yet it quickly turned into a nervous grin.

She tilted her head and tried to look into his eyes. "What is it?" she asked, very much puzzled by his sudden strange behavior. Whatever undercurrent she was feeling, she promptly suppressed it to focus on the man in front of her. He was her first priority, as he had always been. When there was no immediate answer, she gave his hands a squeeze and probed gently, "Did you finish all the cheeses in the kitchen? Or did Eamon finally find out you have worn out his rugs?"

He chuckled at that, which she knew he would; tensions drained from his face. "No, and no." He shook his head. "Thank the Maker."

She let out a soft laugh. The silliness she allowed herself to show when she was around him was only one of the many reasons she loved him so. She could be who she truly was - not the prim and proper Lady Cousland, not the dutiful and honorable Warden. However silly, childish, or even weak she was, he still loved her just the same. And for that, he would forever have her heart and soul. "For which one?" she asked lightly, continued with the jest to put his mind at ease. "That they still have cheese in the kitchen, or that Eamon has yet to find out about his rugs?"

His humorous smile turned into a loving one. "For you."

Sky blue eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden admission. However long they had left, be it months or even weeks, she would always remember this particular moment. Her smile was sweeter than any pies in Ferelden when he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She looked up when his lips parted from her skin, only to find them pressed gently on her own. The soft lingering kiss soon turned into a passionate one as her mouth opened to his.

And she would have let it continue, knowing exactly where it would lead them, had there not been a nagging thought inside her mind. She pulled back, breaking off the kiss. He leaned forth to continue, yet her hand was faster. One finger gently pressed onto his lips to halt his advance. "No..." she said rather breathlessly. "Not until you tell me what is on your mind. Don't you dare distract me."

He took her hand and kissed it with a sly smile. "Who is distracting whom?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. Zevran's influence on her silly Alistair had been showing quite a lot these past two days, she would have to have a nice talk with her dear mentor. But that could wait. "Alistair..." She gave him a pleading look, one which she knew would melt his heart. Even though it would not be as effective in getting his attention as her more 'revealing' method, it wouldn't be as distracting either. And right now, such distraction would work against her, regardless how much either of them would want it.

"It's nothing important... really..." He let go of her hand and rubbed the back of his neck. It was his nervous habit, she had long recognized it. She remained quiet, allowing him to take his time to work it out of his system. Eventually, he continued, "Well, it _is_ important. Very important, in fact."

Samantha looked up at him in alarm. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Well, as fine as it could be with the Blight hanging over our heads..."

"Is it about the Landsmeet, then?"

"What? No, no." He shook his head, then ran his hand through his hair before breathing out a heavy sigh. "It's about... us."

She froze. Everything seemed to stop around her; at least the man she loved had stopped and stared right at her, his expression was the most nervous she had ever seen on him. Her stomach began to sink. Had he finally realized the implication of his potential victory on the Landsmeet? Had Eamon talked to him about being King? Was this what she had been dreading? Was this... the end?

Sky blue eyes wide open, yet things were all but a blur as her mind raced through all possibilities. Her stomach had dropped down into a bottomless pit, the weight in her heart was unbearable. She couldn't move a single muscle, all she could do was to stare at him.

"That... doesn't sound right." Alistair frowned in mild annoyance. "I mean, it's about us, but... Let me try again." He began to pace around while she froze in the same spot. "Maker's breath, I thought it was hard enough the other night when I asked you, but now, with you standing there-"

"The other night?" She blinked, trying to bring some semblance of composure back. Maker be damned, she was a Cousland! And she would face it like a Cousland, whatever it might be, however it might hurt. With her back straightened, her shoulders squared, she braced herself for the inevitable heartache.

It was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, she repeatedly reminded herself.

"Well, yes, that night when we got you back... I was an idiot to think it was a decent timing for that, you know, with a close brush with death and everything..."

That was a decent time to end what they had? Still, Samantha was not at all surprised; he had a knack for finding the worst timing. But still, it had always been adorable in her eyes.

Even now.

Samantha instinctively shook her head and reassured him, "You are never an idiot, my love." She winced inwardly and reminded herself that she would have to stop calling him that soon. Very soon.

He paused and grinned at her. "Oh, you say that now, one day I would do something so idiotic that you would hate me forever. I just know it."

She shook her head once more, firmly this time. "Whatever you do, I would never hate you." She tried to smile for him, but for once, she couldn't. The corners of her mouth twisted up feebly, then fell flat as she fought to keep her lips from trembling. "And I will love you until the day I die." That was the truth, he deserved to know it. If she didn't say it now, she might not have the chance to ever say it again.

Something sparked in his eyes in that instant. Was it determination that she spotted? Samantha chose not to read too much into that. Not now.

He looked straight at her, almost as if he was staring into her soul. She remained still, allowing him to examine her for as long as he needed. She had bared every single part of her for him already, why not her soul? No more than a second had passed, yet it felt like forever to her. It felt as though she was waiting for an execution, knowing her death warrant had already been signed and sealed. Much to her surprise, his eyes softened and a loving smile appeared. "And I you."

Her heart melted and shattered simultaneously at his sincere response. There was a painful lump in her throat; she swallowed hard to push it away, but it stubbornly remained. He was not making it easier for her, or for both of them.

Alistair stepped close to her once more. She had to fight the urge to back up, to keep a safe distance from him, or perhaps even to turn and run away, not giving him a chance to deliver the fatal blow. But she was a Cousland, and she would face it as one. Samantha willed herself to remain still as he stopped right in front of her, and cursed herself for wanting to lean onto that familiar body for strength and support she so desperately needed right now.

"Andraste's flaming sword, I never thought it could be this hard... I mean, it's just words, right? Perhaps I should write it on a piece of paper and pass it onto you instead?" There was that little grin she loved so much, yet it pained her to see it right now.

She responded quietly with a ghost of smile that never reached her eyes, "I understand and I agree."

Hazel eyes widened in shock at her decisiveness. "You... really?"

She nodded once, dropping her gaze, unable to face him without breaking into tears.

Alistair let out a heavy sigh and laughed in utter relief. "Oh! Thank the Maker!" He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, and kissed the top of her head. "Here I thought you might say no to me!"

The wound on her torso protested as she was crushed onto him. She suppressed a cry but her body tensed on its own accord. Alistair gasped and released her quickly as soon as he felt her twitch. "I'm sorry, love!"

Why did he still call her that? Her frown tightened as she fought the pain coming from both her body and her heart. Still, Samantha shook her head wordlessly to dismiss his concern. She didn't trust herself to speak or even to look at him, lest she would break down and cry.

He put his hand on the side of her cheek, then showered her with a few soft kisses, soothing the pain away just as effectively as it had always been in the past. She wanted to push him away - she knew she should, but she couldn't find the strength to resist him, not even now.

"You know what a clumsy idiot I could be," he whispered jokingly as he rested his forehead against hers. "Are you sure you want to marry me?"

Once again, she froze. But this time, it was for a different reason.

Alistair pulled back and looked at her when there was no answer. "... Sammy?"

Samantha could only stare at blankly him with her eyes as wide as it could be. "... M-marry...?" She blinked hard a few times, welled up tears fell but she was passed caring.

He was alarmed to see the drops of tears falling. Brushing them gently off her cheeks, he donned his best pup face and gave a feeble shrug. "Well... I don't know what else to call it, but... you know... Spending the rest of our lives together, starting with a little ceremony that involves swearing in front of the Maker that I am forever yours as you are mine-"

Still shocked beyond belief by the revelation, Samantha struggled to find her wit. "M-marry?" she repeated tentatively, as though she was learning a new word in Orlesian. "... I thought you wanted to..."

He looked at her dubiously. "To what?"

She shook her head and signed. "... To end this." Now it sounded ridiculous when she said it out loud.

"To end wha-" His eyes widened in shock as he realized what she meant. "What? Why would I do that? Why would you even _think_ that I would do that?" A harsh frown appeared on his face. She realized she had deeply offended him by her words, and hurt him with her distrust.

Hanging her head in shame, she offered her reason, however weak it might sound right now, "Because you are going to be king-"

"And? Kings can't get married?" he cut her off, his tone sharpened a notch.

"Kings can't get married to just anyone-"

He impatiently cut her off once more, "And you are not just 'anyone'. Maker's breath! Hello! You are Teyrn Bryce's daughter. If the Teyrn's daughter isn't good enough to be Queen, then no one is!"

Samantha stared at him as though that thought had never crossed her mind. In truth, it never had, until now.

With both his voice and his expression softened considerably, he continued, "Even if you weren't a Cousland, I would never marry anyone but you. But since you _are_ the Lady Cousland herself, I guess we would make the perfect match."

"Even if you lost at the Landsmeet, I would still spend the rest of my life with you," she vowed gently.

"And I would remind you of that if you ever tried to run away from me," he said with a teasing smile.

"Never."

"Good." He nodded in satisfaction, hazel eyes twinkled in delight. "When Cailan married Anora, everyone saw them as a match made in the Golden City. Wait till they see us. We are a much better team than those two."

She couldn't help but smile sweetly at that. "That we are."

"I am prettier than Cailan, and you are smarter than Anora." He flashed a teasing grin. "Or is it the other way around?"

"You are both smarter and prettier than Cailan..." she trailed off, suppressing a giggle, then continued, "And Anora."

"You think so?" He laughed. "I see you do love me. So, let me get this straight and ask you one last time: Will you marry me?" He looked straight at her expectantly, pup face surfaced full force, melting the heart that was broken just a brief moment ago.

Heat crept up on her cheeks. Her smile broadened and became sweeter than ever. "Yes."

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief in jest then grinned at her. "Well, you missed your last chance to reject me."

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she raised an eyebrow at him. "And missed the chance to marry a Prince? Perish the thought."

"Then you are stuck with me for life. I do feel sorry for you." He laughed and pulled her into his arms once again, gently this time. "Hm... Would you still want me if my father weren't Maric?"

She leaned back barely enough to give him a look - the same look she always gave him for his silly antics. "Would you still want me if my father weren't Bryce Cousland?"

His brows knitted as he tilted his head to one side, seemingly in deep thoughts to consider her question, earning him a smack on his chest. "Ow! I jest!" he whined then laughed.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You are stuck with me for life."

"And I wouldn't want it any other way," he said with sudden sincerity. "I am the luckiest man alive." He leaned in to kiss her but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

He groaned in annoyance. "Hold that thought," he whispered to her before marching to the door to fling it open.

"Your Highness. I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Arl would like to see you and Lady Cousland."

"Tell the Arl that Lady Cousland is still resting, we'll talk to him later this evening." With that, Alistair closed door and locked it.

Samantha watched as he walked back to her. "We have to tell Eamon..."

"Yes, we do," he agreed absently before reaching out to tuck a few strands of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingered around her cheek. He leaned in once more and brushed his lips teasingly on hers, then whispered, "Where were we?"

Her breath became shallow in response, her knees weak. It took every bit of her self control not to dart forward to demand a kiss. "But Eamon..." she whispered back breathlessly.

"... Would have to wait." He sealed his lips with hers before she could say another word, and continued where they had left off. Soft lingering kiss once again quickly turned into a passionate one. But this time, none of them stopped.


	37. Come What May

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Thank you both RandomWittering and Jinx1983 for beta-ing this chapter.

Thank you for reading and adding this little story to your list. A big thanks to those who take the time to review, I love hearing from the other side of the screen.

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Chapter Thirty Seven: Come What May

* * *

Sitting across the table from Eamon in his study, Samantha managed to keep her expression neutral, even though deep inside she was the happiest she had been for the longest time. She stole a quick glance at the young man who was sitting right next to her, the one who would be her husband when the Blight was over. The corners of her lips twisted up at that thought; she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from bursting out into giggles.

Samantha was proud that Alistair was also able to keep a grin off his face, as she had instructed, just before entering Eamon's study. The Arl had wanted to meet with them, but Alistair would not even let him see her when she was resting. However, the Blight could not wait, nor could the Landsmeet. The Lady Cousland was not about to delay her duties just because of an injury. Besides, truth be told, Samantha was quite eager to get both the Landsmeet and the Blight out of her way, just so she could start the rest of her life with the man beside her.

They had not told the Arl about their plan for the future yet. Samantha had suggested they withhold the news until Eamon was done discussing the Landsmeet. Alistair had been too busy studying her lips to disagree with her plan.

Alistair shot her a look and their eyes met with mirrored twinkles. He broke into a smile, and she quickly gave a subtle head shake, but it only caused his smile to broaden. Samantha broke their gaze and returned her focus back to Eamon, hoping that by ignoring Alistair momentarily, his attention would shift back to the Arl. But her plan was foiled when he reached over to take her hand under the table, and put it onto his lap, holding it there. Her cheeks heated up ever so slightly, and she felt a squeeze in her hand. She didn't need to look, to know his eyes were tracing her profile while the Arl was talking.

"I'm not saying Anora didn't do well enough while Cailan was King, but Maker's Grace, we did not fight to get the Orlesians out of Ferelden only to have Calenhad's line end at Ostagar."

Sensing the direction of Eamon's well-prepared speech, Samantha quickly tugged at Alistair's hand to jolt him out of his reverie, just in time as Eamon turned to look meaningfully at Alistair. "Not when there is a surviving son of the blood."

Both Wardens remained silent with matching neutral expressions, both fighting to keep their grins at bay.

The Arl was oblivious to the undercurrent in the room and forged on, "Alistair's father was Maric Theirin, a man we all risked our lives for, to win back the throne. His mother may have been a maid, but that first fact is undeniable. I wish... I wish Maric had taken more time to educate and instruct Alistair in the politics of ruling, Maker knows I did my best."

_Maric wasn't even there to be a father, let alone to instruct him in how to be a King_. That thought alone ignited a tiny spark of fire in her belly, sobering her giddy mood, but Samantha wisely kept her thought to herself.

"We all hoped Cailan and Anora would have children to secure the succession, but that hope ended with his death. Calenhad united Ferelden four hundred years ago and since then, his descendants have ruled this country. That was the heritage we fought so hard to preserve from the Orlesians, and it is that heritage I will fight for as long as one of Calenhad's descendants still lives."

With her back straight, Samantha carefully donned her Lady Cousland face and studied the Prince. "Alistair might not know the first thing about being king, but no one is born with such knowledge. He can learn."

Eamon nodded. "With a few months of experience, Alistair will make a fine King."

"Of that I have no doubt," Samantha agreed without hesitation.

"He knows how to stand and fight for justice. He knows how to show compassion to those less fortunate, and how to trust to the Maker's guidance to know right from wrong. And he knows who to turn to for aid should that training fail him."

_You_. She might be young, but she had long ago learned how to read between the lines, especially when dealing with nobles. Fergus might have been the older Cousland but Bryce had insisted on training both his children equally.

"He will be fine," concluded the Arl.

"At least you admit I need training and help. Lots of help. In case I fall off the throne," the subject of their discussion finally spoke up, yet his voice dripped with sarcasm. However, after one look from Samantha, Alistair sighed in defeat. "Look, I get why it's so important to put 'Theirin blood' on the throne and all, but I'll be the first to admit I can't do this alone."

"I'll help you any way I can." The tone of her voice was firm, yet the glance she gave him was a gentle one.

Alistair responded with a loving smile.

"We need to put forth the strongest argument before the Landsmeet to remove Loghain from power," the Arl began to spin his web. "There is one solution that would certainly solve a lot of problems."

"I'm all for killing many birds with one stone," said Alistair with a casual shrug. "What is it, then?"

"Unfortunately, the... 'solution' would never happen unless both parties involved agreed to it."

"Great, more nobles to convince? Do we have to help every noble and their dog in the city with their family problems to win their votes?" Alistair rolled his eyes.

Samantha felt as though she was sitting on needles. She did not like the look on Eamon's face. Not one bit.

The Arl cast a cautious glance at both of them before he continued, "With Theirin blood on the throne, and Anora's wisdom and popularity, Ferelden could present the most united front against the Blight."

The blood in her veins froze, her stomach dropped. Samantha willed herself not to move one single muscle; her poised and dignified front remained intact.

Alistair, on the other hand, lacked such discipline. His jaw dropped in utter shock. "P- pardon?" She was certain he knew what the Arl meant, he was merely in denial.

The voice that came out from her was uncharacteristically cold and detached. "He is suggesting that you should marry Anora."

"You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking!" Alistair shot up suddenly in extreme agitation. Standing at his full height, the Prince towered over the man sitting across the table. His rare temper flared with full force. "You are telling _me_ to marry HER? Have you even met her? Hello! That woman is made out of _ice_, and she's _heartless_! Sammy was captured because of her. She _betrayed _her, she betrayed us! She _will_ betray us again the moment we turn our backs! And in case you forgot who her father is. She is Loghain's daughter! And she sure is her father's daughter through and through. You want me to spend the rest of my life staring at the face that will forever remind me of Duncan's murderer? NO! The answer is NO! Not even if the Maker came down from above and begged me to marry that bit- woman... whatever! NO!"

Alistair had yelled so loud that his voice became hoarse at the end of his rant. He threw himself back into his chair with a growl, his face flushed with rage. Samantha quietly reached for the jar of water on the table to pour a glass and handed it to the angry prince. Alistair took it and exchanged a look with her, her comforting hand rested on his arm. Tension in his face seemed to have slightly loosened as he finished the glass of water in one gulp and put it back down with a thud.

"The answer is no," Alistair repeated firmly, just in case the Arl didn't hear him the first time. Still breathless from his explosion, he continued with his momentum and blurted out, "In fact, now is as good a time to tell you this: We are going to get married after all this Blight business is over and done with!"

His sudden and blunt announcement in front of Eamon took Samantha by surprise. Her carefully crafted facade of poise cracked a little as a pink tint flushed on her face. Alistair and his timing... She raised an eyebrow and glanced at him. Alistair merely shrugged and took her hand, lacing her fingers with his, and deliberately rested them on the table for the Arl to see that by 'we', he meant them.

The message was loud and clear: blast your plan to the Dark City.

Eamon eyed Samantha thoughtfully, almost as if he had never met her. She met his gaze and held her own ground with the dignity and poise expected from the heir to Highever. The Arl then briefly shifted his focus to Alistair before landing it back on her.

She felt Alistair's fingers tighten around hers.

"This might work." Eamon nodded to himself as he stroked his thick beard.

"What now?" asked Alistair suspiciously. His voice was laced with weariness.

"Before Anora became queen, she was the Teyrn's daughter," said the Arl. "And so are you, Samantha. The Cousland line is indeed long. The Couslands became Teyrns during the Black Age, as I recall?"

"During the lycanthrope plagues," Samantha answered with certainty, "Before Calenhad had even united Ferelden." Her family history was one of the many lessons Master Aldous had drilled into her. She held Eamon's gaze evenly.

Alistair's fingers tightened even more on her own.

"You two have raised an army all by yourself. Managed to unite elves, dwarves, mages, and humans all to fight the Blight. Alistair couldn't do it on his own, and he certainly couldn't do it without you. I can see that now..." Eamon admitted hesitantly. "Bryce no doubt trained you as well as your brother, should anything have happened to him. You have everything needed to help Alistair. You will do well as his Queen. You have my blessings."

At long last, Alistair's grip relaxed.

She turned and faced the man who would be her husband, and he flashed a huge grin of relief. She knew how much Eamon meant to Alistair. Although they would have still been together, even if Eamon had protested, Samantha had no doubt that Eamon's blessings meant much more to Alistair than he would ever admit. She smiled fondly at the Prince, allowing her guard to relax for just a moment, and fought the urge to plant a kiss on him.

Giving him a subtle wink before she composed herself once again, Samantha turned to the Arl, then dipped her head ever so slightly with grace and poise worthy of the future Queen of Ferelden. "Thank you, my Lord."

* * *

"Well, that wasn't so hard..." Alistair commented dreamily, as he walked down the hallway with Samantha's arm tucked in his. "I'm not dreaming, am I? Pinch me."

Samantha rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but her smile was loving. She did as he asked and pinched his cheek lightly.

Alistair touched his face with a dubious look. "Hm. I don't feel anything."

So she pinched once more. Harder this time.

"Ow! That hurts," he whined and rubbed his cheek. "So this isn't a dream. We are going to... you know..."

A fine brow arched at him. "You are _not_ having second thoughts, are you?"

"No, of course not!" Alistair denied immediately. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I mean it. But... are you sure?"

Samantha stared at him incredulously. "Am I sure I want to marry you?"

"Yes, that..."

"Yes." It was the second time she'd said yes to that question, and once again without hesitation.

"Oh, good. I thought I was dreaming when you said yes earlier. Whew!" He let out a dramatic sigh of relief jokingly then continued with a chuckle, "But I'm pretty sure what came after the 'yes' wasn't a dream, I think I might have some bite marks from you to prove that." That earned himself a swat on his arm from his newly betrothed. He raised a teasing eyebrow at the blushing woman by his side. "So, you do know that you would be the Queen of Ferelden, right? I mean, if I win the Landsmeet and all."

Sky blue eyes widened in feigned surprise as she gasped dramatically. "Really? You don't say! I think I must have missed that part of the deal." His sarcasm had definitely been rubbing off on her.

"Oh, I don't blame you. Who wants to be Queen, right? I mean, looking pretty in a fancy dress, sitting around the castle could be pretty tiring." He snickered. "Seriously though, you are... fine with the idea of being Queen?"

"Only if you are my King, then yes," replied Samantha in all seriousness, but she then paused and added with a teasing smile, "It is the price of being your wife, is it not?"

He laughed, relieved to hear her confirmation. "I am quite the prize, aren't I? Well, you've caught me fair and square. Now it's time to pay up and get trapped in the castle with me."

She snorted rather unladylike. "I grew up in one, my love. Only mine was smaller than yours."

He stopped their tracks and grinned happily at her. "Smart, beautiful, ready and willing to be trapped, and able to kick asses at the drop of a hat. You will make an excellent queen. And I get to marry the woman I love. It can't be much better than that, can it?" Without waiting for an answer, he leaned in for a kiss.

But Samantha stopped him with her hand over his lips. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a maid glancing at them as she passed. A giggle from the distance confirmed her suspicion. "You are going to be King. Remember the first lesson I told you the other night: there are always people around the castle."

"Right... The King kissing his Queen. How scandalous!" He rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

"I am not your Queen, yet," she reminded him. "Gossip within castles and mansions spread faster than wildfire."

"Fine. Fine. Have it your way," Alistair conceded with a dramatic sigh, though smiling with amusement. "I'll have you all to myself soon enough. Say, how fast can you run back to the bedroom?"

Wrinkling her nose at him, she corrected his presumption, "Well, I didn't say you couldn't kiss me in public..." Samantha shot cautious glances around before taking his face in her hands and pulled him in for the kiss he had just been denied. He was pleasantly surprised and returned the gesture eagerly, but groaned with disappointment when she broke off way too soon for his liking.

"This is how it's done," instructed his future Queen half-seriously, releasing her hold on his face. "Just be more discreet."

"I see," said Alistair, immensely amused. "Like this?"

He mimicked her and swooped in for another kiss that lasted much longer than their previous one. "Where did you learn that trick from?" he asked when they eventually broke off. "This... sneaky discretion thing. Not standard lessons for a teyrna-in-training, right?"

"You know I grew up in a castle."

"Yes, but... You mean you kissed a lot of men back in Highever?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"What? No! Of course not!" She glared at him indignantly, horrified by his implication. "I did no such thing. Not even once! You were the first man I've ever kissed and- and been with. You know that! And you will be the last."

Ignoring his over-the-top 'aw!' exclamation, as well as the burning heat on her cheeks, Samantha continued with her own defense, "Going around kissing men would have brought shame to the family, as Oriana would have put it. My mother would have killed me if I had! Not that I ever wanted to. I just saw a lot of sneaking around done by maids and guards. Not to mention my brother, before he got married."

"Aw, you're so cute when you're all flustered," teased the prince with a huge grin plastered on his face.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "...You did that on purpose."

His laughter earned him yet another swat on his arm, harder than last time. Although it barely stopped him from laughing long enough to let out a playful fake "Ow" before snickering again.

"Keep at it and you will not have any alone time with me until our wedding night," Samantha warned with a slight pout, then turned on her heels to walk away, before a mischievous grin could burst out from her well-composed straight face.

As expected, Alistair immediately followed like a puppy. "Sammy! Wait. I'm sorry. It's just that... it's been so stressful all this time, especially with you being injured. I could use a good laugh to ease some tension."

"Oh, I could give you more than a good laugh to ease your tension," said Samantha suggestively in a voice low enough to tickle his ears.

"Ooh, that sounds rather saucy," he mumbled and grinned to himself, then paused with a suspicious look. "Wait. I thought you were angry with me."

She turned to him as soft laughter escaped her lips, her eyes twinkled in mischief. "So I fooled you, did I? I was joking."

"About the angry part, I hope," said Alistair with a relieved chuckle. "Not the tension easing part."

Another playful swat. This time much lighter. She linked her arm with his as they continued on. Comfortable silence settled between them, as both were contented with each other's presence.

"They'll expect an heir, you know." Alistair said tentatively.

"It's part of being Queen." Of course she knew, although that didn't quell the pink flush on her face.

There was a long pause. She could feel the muscles in his arm tense. Samantha cast a curious glance at him. His eyes were glued to the rug as they slowly walked down the hallway. "But... with the taint in our blood, it's hard enough for a Grey Warden to have a child on their own. For two of them...?"

_That_ part she did not know. Color drained from her cheeks and a breath caught in her throat. Samantha froze mid-step, stunned beyond belief by the revelation.

He stopped and turned to her, then continued, "Every Grey Warden I knew who had children had them before they took the Joining." Alistair shot an uncomfortable glance at his betrothed. "Having an heir... might not be possible."

His words unknowingly drove an invisible punch in her gut, knocking the wind out of her; an unseen dagger stabbed right into her heart. Samantha scowled, couldn't even summon the energy to mask the sudden pain inside her. She probably heard him wrong- no, she _had to_ have heard him wrong. "Not... p-possible?" she uttered in a quiet stutter.

The apprehension and sadness on his face drove the dagger further in and twisted it. Wordlessly, he nodded once.

Anger, betrayal, heartache all came to her at once, overwhelmed every bit of her senses. She was robbed of the chance of motherhood - an experience generations and generations of women had been blessed with, a future she had once taken for granted, and a dream she had harbored from the fairy tales she used to read.

Her life was not a fairy tale.

She dropped her arm from his as though it was burning her. Hugging herself rather defensively, she took a few steps away from him. The knot between her brows tightened further.

Samantha knew she shouldn't, but she felt utterly betrayed by Duncan, and even Alistair. Duncan for recruiting her and knowingly cursing her with this tainted blood. And Alistair for withholding this most crucial piece of information until it was too late.

"Um... Sammy?" The pain in his eyes was too much for her to bear. The dagger in her heart gave a final twist before it was yanked out.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she asked almost accusingly.

"Well, I thought about it a lot, actually. But now, it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?"

"No, please just listen..." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumped. "Look, I never thought you would agree to marry me. Sure, of course I've dreamed of it, but in my dreams I usually end up naked and everyone laughs at me. I wanted to ask you to marry me that night in Redcliffe. But... I wasn't sure if you'd even consider it, spending the rest of your life with an idiot like me-"

She cut him off with a shake of her head, "Of course I would!"

"It was stupid of me to doubt you, wasn't it?" He let out another sigh. Hazel eyes looked into blue ones with nothing but sincerity. "After you left for the rescue, all I could think about was you and the danger you were in. All I wanted that entire morning was for you to come back to me, so I could tell you I love you. Maker knows I haven't said that enough. And then when they came back without you, I... I lost it. The Landsmeet, even the Blight, suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore. When I carried you back to the mansion from the fort, I had never been so scared in my life. I thought I would lose you forever, and there was not a damn thing I could do to save you."

Her face softened with each word. Still, she remained quiet to let him finish.

"Thank the Maker you came back to me... I love you, I do. After all that we've been through, the problem with our taint would just be another obstacle that we have to overcome. If we survive the Blight, there's nothing else that could stop us from being together. I know it's probably selfish of me, you have Highever to deal with, but I really want you to be with me, forever. And when you said yes, I felt all of this... weight, lifted off my shoulders. The thought of being King didn't seem so bad anymore, as long as I have you as my Queen."

She couldn't be angry with him for too long, she knew that. But there were too many issues unresolved. Her brows tightened back into a knot.

Her life was not a fairy tale. Fairy tale princesses never had to deal with realistic political pressure.

As much as she tried to maintain her composure, her voice was trembling.

"Do you know what usually happens when a queen fails to produce an heir?"

He shook his head helplessly.

That didn't surprise her. But she knew. All the history books she'd read and lessons from the late Master Aldous had taught her much. None of the historical outcomes that came to her mind right now were remotely pleasant. She could only wish she didn't know. At least she could still be enjoying the pure bliss and happiness she had just moments ago.

Perhaps ignorance was a bliss.

Samantha breathed out a wary sigh. "Your adviser, in this case, most likely Eamon, would push you to replace me." It pained her to say it out loud as she predicted a future she wished she couldn't foresee.

Alistair scowled. "He wouldn't do that! Would he? I wouldn't let him!"

"Then, you might have to take a mistress." Every word stabbed her like a jab from her dagger.

Ignorance _was_ a bliss.

"No! I won't do that to you. I can't!" He shook his head hard, visibly disturbed by that idea.

"You might not have a choice, my love. It's your duty to continue your line, as Eamon and other royalists so adamantly believe." She took a long shuddering breath before she continued with her prediction, her voice softened down to a whisper. "And I would have to accept it, or step down."

"No! Absolutely not! I refuse to have any mistresses or lovers or whatever. It would be unfair to you. I couldn't- I wouldn't do that!"

"Alistair..."

His temper ignited for the second time that night. "Damn them all to the Dark City! They want to make me King? Fine, I'll be King! But only if you are my Queen, and I'll do exactly what I want to do. I'll not touch another woman and they can't force me. _I _am King, they are not! And if they want the Theirin blood on the throne so badly, I'll bottle up a jar of my blood to put on the throne for them before my calling!"

Sky blue eyes stared right into his; she was speechless.

Alistair held her gaze firmly. "Remember that day outside Goldanna's? You taught me to stand up for myself, Sammy. And now I'm making my stand. You have been standing by me all this time, even when all I did was whine and complain. Without Samantha Cousland, there would be no King Alistair. Eamon knows that! Everybody knows that. If they think they could shove you aside just because of some... heir issues, well, they're wrong! I won't let them! If they dare to remove you, I _will_ step down together with you. We'd empty the coffer, go to Orlais, and eat pies for the rest of our lives!"

Trust Alistair to bring a smile to her face even when she was about to cry. She studied him with tremendous pride; the once self-deprecating bastard Prince had now grown into a strong-willed future King.

His temper cooled off almost instantly when he spotted the smile on her lips. "I am not joking." His firm tone matched his words. He pulled her in for a hug and tightened his arms around her as though she would slip away the moment he loosened his grip.

"I know." She held onto him just as tightly, ignoring the discomfort in her torso. Thankfully neither of them were in their armor; she could easily feel the pounding of his heart through the fabric of their clothing.

"Not even the Orlais and pie part." A hint of smile came back into his voice.

She buried her face into his shoulder and mumbled, "I know."

They remained still. Neither wanted to let go.

But soon, her body jerked. Not because of pain, but due to a sudden idea that came to her. Alistair immediately pulled back and lowered his gaze to her in alarm. "I'm sorry, love, did I hurt you again?"

Shaking her head in denial, she looked up at him slyly. "You know, if you were to appoint an official heir before yo- our callings, and give yourself enough time for the necessary transition, as well as time for the appointed heir to be trained in ruling, the succession might go smoothly without risking civil war..."

Alistair stared at her thoughtfully. She could tell the wheels behind his mind had started to spin.

"A lot of people are supporting Anora even though she does not have a drop of Theirin blood," she reasoned. "They like her because their lives were not so bad under her rule, not because of her bloodline. If whoever you chose could be just as good a leader, there would be no reason to rebel against your heir, even though he's not of your blood. The people want stability, not war. Most of them don't care who's on the throne so long as they have food on their table."

A grin slowly spread across his face as her words sank in. "See? That's why I love you! You're so smart. Here all I did was rant and yell, and you actually came up with the good idea." He landed a proud kiss on her forehead, then turned serious once more and gazed straight into the eyes of his future Queen. "I never made one single important decision for myself my entire life, not until I met you. This... You and I being together, this is probably the most important decision that I will ever make for myself. And I'm going to stand by my decision. Even if the Maker Himself came to take you away from me, I would chase Him down and bring you back. I am not letting you go, no matter what. Trust me."


	38. Flawed but Perfect

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: Big thanks to RandomWittering and Jinx1983 for beta-ing this chapter. My deepest thanks to all of you for reading and adding this little story to your favorite/alert list. And for the anonymous reviewer, whoever you are, I want to thank you for being so kind to me. To know that there are readers out there, it's the best reward I'd ever ask for.

"Courtesy is a lady's armor" is from George R.R. Martin's "A Game of Thrones". You've seen some references from "A Song of Ice and Fire" before in my story. And there will be more to come, because I absolutely love that series.

The chapter title may sound familiar, that's because I'm reusing the title of my older story.

* * *

Chapter Thirty Eight: Flawed but Perfect

* * *

Putting down the hair brush after running it through her golden hair one last time, Samantha glanced at the image inside the mirror. Even with a bit of color returning to her face, her skin was still quite pale, making those sky blue eyes even more prominent than usual. It had only been three days since her rescue, and truth be told, she knew she was in no condition to face another enemy. But this particular one, she had to meet.

Anora had been requesting a meeting with her, while Alistair had been rejecting it every time it was brought up by Eamon. Samantha understood Alistair's anger towards the Queen as well as his wariness, for she shared the very same sentiment with her beloved. But with the Blight looming and the country being at the blink of a civil war, she had to set aside her personal feelings for the greater good, such was her duty as a Warden and as a Cousland.

Besides, why avoid the inevitable? She knew what Anora wanted from her: her support. Zevran had suggested that she should form a false alliance with the Queen, only to betray her at the Landsmeet. An eye for an eye, her dear mentor had said. To her surprise, even Alistair had been a bit too enthusiastic about that idea. In truth, part of her wanted to carry out Zevran's plan. Whatever it would take to keep Alistair alive by winning him the throne, Samantha would be willing to do it.

But what would her father think if she pulled such a trick?

Samantha shook her head, slightly ashamed. She had to have enough faith in Alistair, enough to believe that he could win without resorting to trickery. After all, without a clean victory against Anora, Alistair would not get the proper respect and support from the nobles, nor would he be able to rule for long.

She let out a heavy sigh and shut her eyes for a brief moment to compose herself. While the Landsmeet was indeed just around the corner, she had one more battle to fight before that. And she was now preparing for it. Although this time, neither her armor nor her weapons were needed.

She reopened her eyes to examine the image inside the mirror. Golden hair had been brushed until it shone. Long silk dress covered the bandage on her torso, and hid the bruises and cuts on her body. Her gaze landed on the reflection of her mother's locket as well as her father's ring hanging on a delicate silver chain around her neck. The necklace was the only accessory she had, and the only one she needed, for it reminded her constantly of who she had been, who she was.

She was the Lady Cousland, last of her line.

Fine brows knotted tightly at that last thought. It was certainly not the time to dwell on that particular subject. Right now, she had to focus on the upcoming battle. Even though it would not be a physical one, it would be just as important as any fights she had faced so far, if not more so. Thankfully, Lady Samantha Cousland had been trained most of her life to prepare for such occasions where her poise would be her armor, her wits would be her blade.

Her mother would be proud of her.

Smoothing invisible wrinkles from the front of her dress, Samantha tossed one last look at the image inside the mirror before heading out of her guestroom to meet with the Queen of Ferelden.

Well, queen for now.

* * *

"Hello Samantha," Anora greeted with a polite nod. "It is good that you came to speak with me."

The Queen's golden hair was braided in an impeccable bun. Her sharp blue eyes landed on Samantha's softer ones. There was even a slight smile, although it was merely for courtesy without a hint of warmth.

Instead of a curtsy for the Queen, Samantha returned a nod of her own. Anora no doubt had heard about her engagement to Alistair, after all gossip spread faster than wild fire. The ever so shrewd Queen had to know that the younger woman would be replacing her if she lost the Landsmeet, while Samantha was not about to forget how Anora's lie had led to her capture. Yet, neither showed a hint of resentment. Such were the results from the training both had received since they were but little girls.

How they felt inside, however, was another story.

With her back perfectly straight, her hands folded delicately on her lap, Samantha sat in a comfortable armchair across from the Queen. A small table separated the two blonde women, with refreshments and two cups of hot tea waiting for both ladies to enjoy. But neither showed interest in any of it.

"First, let me offer you my condolences. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did... was unforgivable. How fitting he died at your hands."

Samantha felt the jab but hid a wince. Anora's words might be kind, but the meaning behind them was not lost on her. Anora was glad to be rid of Howe, a possible thorn in her side, and Samantha had done the dirty job for her. Still, she was able to hold her Lady Cousland mask in place and returned the courtesy. "Thank you. My condolences to you as well. I am sorry for your loss. Cailan was a fine king."

The two women shared a glance, both knew the statement was anything but the truth. It was a game both had learned to played so well. Courtesy was a lady's armor, or so Samantha had been taught. Her custom leather armor would protect her in battles, but here in this room, it would be as useful as a silk dress on a battle field.

"It was more than my loss, it was our country's as well. But I thank you all the same," Anora replied on cue, then hesitated for a brief moment before she continued, "I am hoping that, despite our unfortunate beginning, we can still work together. Will you hear me out?"

Despite a spark of fire that ignited inside her belly, Samantha kept her tone as calm as ever. Her words, however, had a slight edge to it. "I am here, am I not?"

"Indeed. And I thank the Maker that you are out of Fort Drakon."

_And I should thank you for sending me there_, she thought. But what she said without missing a beat was, "Perhaps you should thank Alistair instead."

The Queen twisted the corners of her lips subtly, almost as if to suppress a grimace. Whether it was because of her words or disdain for Alistair, Samantha did not know, nor did she care.

Never one to waste time, Anora steered the conversation straight to the point. "I will be blunt. I can see that your voice has already become a strong one. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason."

Samantha was rather thankful for her forthrightness, the last thing she wanted right now was to trade pretty words and dig up hidden meanings behind them. Still, she chose to remain quiet instead of denying that claim. False modesty was not even necessary. She knew what Anora wanted from her, but she would let all the cards be laid out on the table first.

"We will need to work together, and quickly. My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it."

Beside the occasional blinks and the subtle raise and fall of her chest, Samantha remained as still as a statue while she witnessed Anora laying ground work to once again lure her into doing the dirty work.

Anora continued with the momentum, "You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some... recent events. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar. Many people here are angry or grieving. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the army. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason. I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it. You need that evidence for the Landsmeet."

Samantha was barely able to contain a snort. While it might be evidence against Loghain, who would be the real beneficiary?

"My father must be stopped, but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne."

So there it was, plain as day. Anora knew about her relationship with Alistair, yet she still tried to seek an alliance. An eyebrow arched slightly on Samantha's otherwise passive face. "Are you proposing an alliance between us?"

Anora nodded firmly. "That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne."

Samantha almost laughed at that. While she expected Anora's last ditch effort to seek her as an ally in her own campaign, she never thought the Queen would be so direct. Still, Samantha maintained her poise. There was just a tiny hint of amusement playing on her lips. "You are asking me to betray Alistair?"

"It's not a betrayal," said Anora indignantly.

"Is it not?" asked Samantha.

"It's for the good of the country," Anora responded with such conviction that Samantha would have liked to believe her, if she didn't know better. "Alistair seems like a kind, well-meaning man, and biddable enough. These are admirable qualities, if not kingly ones. He also seems to be a fine Grey Warden – which is exactly why he should remain one, and serve the kingdom by defeating the darkspawn."

Anyone who survived the Joining could become a Grey Warden, but only one man could be the rightful king. "Alistair would serve the kingdom better as a good king than a Warden," said Samantha.

Anora raised one eyebrow. "There are some who would follow Alistair out of respect for his Theirin blood. The others would see this as Eamon grabbing for power. Who else do you think Alistair would turn to for help?" The two women shared a look. Both of them knew the answer. "Eventually the nobility would return to the old days of constant warring with each other. Alistair's weakness would destroy everything Maric built."

"Not if Alistair learned how to rule," Samantha countered ever so calmly.

"Cailan was groomed to be Maric's successor, but look how he turned out when it was his turn to sit on the throne." The loving tone of a widow speaking of her late husband was all but gone. "For years I have ruled this kingdom as Cailan's Queen. As much as they loved Cailan, all of the Bannorn knew this to be so."

"Alistair is not Cailan." There, she said it, loud and clear. Perhaps it was as much for herself as it was for Anora.

A mild frown appeared on Anora's face. "Perhaps not. I simply believe that I am what this country needs. I will fight for what I believe. Would Alistair do the same?"

"He is already doing so, every single day. And he will continue to do so, not just to fight for what he believes, but what is right." A smile played on Samantha's lips, one of sheer pride.

The Queen studied the young woman. "Maric's boys are charming, aren't they?" she asked with a knowing smile. "And happiest when they have a woman to dote upon. The way he behaved when you were captured, and the way you speak of him. Is that why you support him?"

"Would you have supported Cailan if he were in Alistair's position?"

Anora's lips parted, but no words came out until she composed herself. "No. Because Cailan would not be the right choice for the country."

"But you would be," Samantha filled in the blank for her.

"I _am_ the right choice."

"Alistair is not Cailan," Samantha repeated once more. "While Cailan might not have been the best choice for a King, I believe Alistair is."

Anora's eyes narrowed a fraction. "You think this is what he actually wants? To be the King?"

"I know so," said Samantha firmly.

Sapphire blue eyes bore onto sky blue ones. Samantha held the Queen's gaze steadily. "Maybe it is," Anora conceded. "If so, then he has changed."

"We have all changed after we lost those we loved. For better or worse," Samantha replied, wistful.

The two blonde women shared yet another glance. But this time, the tension was replaced by mutual understanding. Peaceful silence settled in between the two ladies, both so much alike, yet very much different.

"Just how do you know so much about him?" Samantha asked with genuine curiosity.

"Cailan knew of Alistair," said Anora. Samantha thought back one year ago at Ostagar, when she had caught a glimpse of the late King in golden armor watching the two youngest Wardens from afar, before he'd retreated into his tent. "It was Arl Eamon that kept Alistair out of the courts, as Maric had desired."

Just how Maric could abandon his own son, Samantha would never understand. Bastard or not, Alistair was still of his blood. Besides, Maric would certainly not be the first King who had a bastard child. Still, fate had a mind of its own. However hard Eamon had tried to keep Alistair out of the courts, the Arl was now working just as hard to send him right back into the game.

"It was Maric's decision to keep Alistair away from the courts. Alistair had never been given any choice when he was younger. But now, he can choose his own path."

"Ah. That's too bad."

"I think he would make a better King than you believe."

"Well, fair enough. I'll tell you this: my father must be stopped. Once he is kept from the throne, if it should fall to Alistair then I will be content."

Samantha held back a snort. They both knew it was a lie. Once Loghain was kept from the throne, it would be down to either Alistair or Anora, and Anora would be anything but content should Alistair win. Power was more addictive than lyrium potions, Anora would not give up her crown without a fight. But for now, they both needed to take the third party out of the race first. A temporary truce was called, a silent agreement was made. The Queen looked at her potential successor just as calmly as the Lady Cousland looked at the woman who had betrayed her. Still, not a hint of resentment was shown on either of their beautiful faces.

How they truly felt inside, they would never show.

* * *

Alistair concentrated on the book in front of him, at least he was trying to. Samantha had just left to meet with Anora, and he didn't like that one bit. What type of meeting was it? Behind closed doors, and he wasn't allowed to accompany her? Whatever Anora told his betrothed, she would tell him anyway, so why couldn't he be there to begin with?

His 'betrothed'... He couldn't quite hide a small grin at that thought. But that grin was instantly quelled as soon as a disturbing thought entered his rather busy mind. That ice block of a woman had betrayed Samantha without even blinking her eyes, who knew what type of nefarious traps she had set for his unsuspecting Sammy?

Alistair resisted the urge to head to the room where Anora was staying, where his Sammy currently was. Ever since that heartless woman had come to stay with the Arl, he had been avoiding that part of the mansion like the plague. Not that he was afraid of that ice Queen, he was more afraid of what he might do when he saw her. His punch had almost landed on Anora the other day, the next one might not miss even if he tried.

"All by your lonesome with a boring book?" asked Zevran as he waltzed in and took a seat across from him. "Where is that lovely lady of yours?"

Alistair sighed. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with the assassin, or anyone. "Off to see that... woman."

The assassin's eyebrow twitched up a notch as he lounged back, folding his hands behind his head. "Time for a showdown already? Do you think my little protege would trick her?"

"No, unfortunately. Sam is too nice..." A faint smirk then appeared on Alistair's lips. "Although I would love to see that bitch's face when she got a taste of her own medicine."

Zevran laughed. "See? I knew you had it in you!"

"What can I say? I am a bad, bad man..." His smirk widened. Who knew he would find some common ground with the notoriously flamboyant Crow? Yet, here they were, once again agreeing on the same issue. Perhaps he needed to share his concern, or perhaps he was merely seeking yet another agreement. Whatever the reason was, he heard himself asking, "Do you think it's a trap?"

Zevran looked at him questioningly.

"This... so-called meeting. She insisted on seeing Sam alone. Why can't I be there?"

Zevran shrugged. "If they talked about you, would that not make it a little awkward for you to be in the same room?"

"Right..." Alistair admitted grudgingly.

They had come to the conclusion that Anora chose to remain behind not to hide from her father, but to try to win Samantha's support for her bid on the throne. Alistair couldn't blame Anora for trying to persuade Samantha to join her side, after all, who wouldn't want the support from the last Cousland? But he could and certainly did blame the Queen for betraying his betrothed, causing her to suffer for the past few days. And he was not about to forgive and forget that vile woman's atrocity.

"But what if it's another one of her traps? If she touched Sam by a hair, I swear to the Maker and Andraste-"

"Relax, my friend," the elf cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand. "Should there be a duel, we should put all our gold on our Sammy to win. We'd make a fortune."

Alistair's face turned sour at the nickname Zevran used for Samantha. He thought _he _was the only one who called her that. "That woman is wicked! If it's swords or daggers, or even magic, Sam could dodge."

"She does have a brain inside that pretty head of hers, you know?"

"I know that!" Alistair snapped. "It didn't stop her from being thrown to the wolves by that sick, sick woman last time."

A quick flash of guilt crossed Zevran's face, which Alistair noticed despite how agitated he was. The Prince let out a weary sigh. "Sam can hold her own in a fight; she could even kick my ass if she wanted to. But that woman is sick, wicked, evil, and mean!"

Alistair's stubborn refusal to utter Anora's name seemed to amuse Zevran to no end. "'That woman' may be sick, wicked, evil and mean, but our Sammy is a smart lass. Or at least I thought she was, until I heard the news..." Zevran trailed off. Amber eyes scanning the other man, a corner of his lips twisted up into a smirk.

Alistair frowned mildly, confused. "What news?"

Zevran leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, closing the distance between them, as if to share a secret. "Someone was bold enough to ask for her hand in marriage, and she was dumb enough to say yes." His smirk broadened into a teasing grin at the sight of a blush creeping up on Alistair's face.

"She told you that?"

"With you trailing her like her shadow, when would she find the time to bring me such news without you noticing it?" Zevran snorted. "Although I do wish she would have consulted with me first. I would have asked her to think more than twice and perhaps reconsider once more."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at him. "Of course you would."

Zevran suddenly studied him with such seriousness, it was an expression Alistair had never seen on the assassin face. "Do you know how to kill the archdemon?"

Alistair once again frowned in confusion at the abrupt change of topic. "What?"

"Do you know how to kill the archdemon?" the assasin repeated, his face unchanged.

"I..." Alistair was lost for words. In truth, he had no idea; Duncan had never told him anything about that. "Like everything else, just chop of its head."

Zevran looked at him intently for a moment longer without making further comment.

"What does that have to do with us getting married?" Alistair asked suspiciously.

In a blink of an eye, his flamboyant face was back. Zevran merely shrugged. "Make sure you two stay alive long enough to get married."

That Alistair understood and fully agreed. "We don't intend to die, thank you very much."

Amber eyes looked straight into hazel ones, the intensity that had been gone a second ago was now back once more. "And if you ever make her cry..."

Alistair finished without missing a beat, "... I would stab myself before you did."

* * *

It was only after she closed the door behind her that she allowed a weary sigh to escape. Samantha leaned on the door and shut her eyes momentarily, pinching the bridge of her nose to will the headache away.

A simple meeting should not have been this exhausting, yet it was. The past few days had taken a toll on her, perhaps even more so than the past year. The capture, the injury, the emotional turmoil from assuming an inevitable end of their relationship to promising a happily ever after of her own.

But the most unbearable of all was the crushing news that she could never have a child. Not with Alistair - the one and only beloved prince of her fairy tale. Just when she thought she could have it all after losing everything, her world once again threatened to crumble. It was a flaw that would forever taint her happy ending; a void that could never be filled, nor could it truly be ignored.

Still, Samantha had to learn to come to terms with that glaring flaw in her otherwise perfect happily ever after. She would spend the rest of her life with the man she loved more than life itself, what more could she possibly ask for? Be it thirty years until their callings, or perhaps twenty, or even ten, she would cherish everyday with him, every single moment. Was that not enough?

She heard footsteps approach and looked up, not at all startled or surprised to have another person waiting in her room. As expected, Alistair stood in front of her and peered at her.

"I could get used to this..." she mumbled.

"Get used to what?"

"You waiting for me in our room every night," she explained with a tired smile.

He laughed. "Is that all you want?"

She looked at him lovingly then nodded. "That is all I want."

"Are you sure?" He grinned at her. "I can give you more than that, you know..."

She saw him leaning forward. Knowing full well he was about to kiss her, she tilted her head up and held a mischievous smile in check. It wasn't until the tip of his nose touched hers that she announced in a whisper, "You can give me a massage and a piece of pie. I would like to have a hot bath as well..."

He groaned in exaggeration at her antics, causing her to let out a soft giggle in response. Trapped between him and the door behind her back, Samantha realized there was nowhere in the entire Thedas she would rather be.

"You'll pay for that," he threatened then quickly stole a kiss before he backed away from her.

She smiled sweetly at that, then sat down at the edge of the bed. Although still drained, her headache began to subside. She knew it had to do with Alistair; his presence calmed her down more than he would ever know.

"So what did that woman want?"

"What else?" She glanced at him with a sly look. "She wanted to steal me away from you."

Alistair's eyes widened briefly before he burst into laughter. "Over my dead body."

"Don't say that," she chided with a wrinkle of her nose.

He stepped closer and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his finger tips tickled the side of her neck as his hand glided down, making her squirm. "Are you going to pick her over me?" She knew he was joking even without seeing his flirtatious smile. "The crown looks better on her, doesn't it?"

"I think... you look better than Anora, with or without that crown."

He grinned. "And_ I_ think that crown would look best on you."

"Be careful now, that's treason."

"Isn't that what I am doing?" He sat down next to her.

"You have the right to claim the throne."

He just smiled at her without arguing. Samantha was relieved to see that he had finally stopped struggling with his birthright and the path he was on. His hand rested on her back and stroked her slowly. "Tell me, what did she offer to win you over?"

"Oh, the usual... Fame and fortune..."

"And just how am I supposed to top that?"

"There is one thing I want she could never give..."

He pretended to think hard, then lit up with revelation. "Ah... I see. She's a woman, that means she doesn't have..." That earned him a smack on his arm. "Ow! Beard, I was going to say beard! What did you think I was going to say?" he asked with a snicker.

She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him, making a face no one would have ever thought to see on the Lady Cousland.

He laughed before leaning close. "So, what is it that you want?" he asked very softly, his voice tickling her ears.

She knew he knew the answer. Instead of saying that one word he wanted to hear, she rolled her eyes at him, hiding a smile rather unsuccessfully.

His hand found its way to her waist, nudging her closer to him. "What is it?" he asked once more, his puppy face surfacing at will.

She looked up at his pup face, mentally counting down the seconds until she inevitably conceded. She made it to three seconds before she gave up and said, "You."

Puppy look was instantly replaced by a happy grin as he landed a kiss on her forehead, it was all the reward she needed at the end of the day. Her headache disappeared. If only his grins and kisses could settle every problem in their lives. "There is still one matter..."

"Let me guess: the castle ran out of cheese?"

She snorted. "If only..."

"Let's see... So far we've faced undead, demon possession, abominations, werewolves, stone golems, and countless darkspawn. Can't be worse than any of those. Nothing we can't handle together, I suppose?"

She looked straight at him and held his gaze for a moment, a smile slowly spread across her face. "No, there is nothing we can't handle together." She reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. "There is unrest in the alienage. Anora suspects her father is behind it. The more evidence we can gather against Loghain before the Landsmeet, the easier it will be for you to win the votes."

He nodded and remained thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose it's worth checking it out. I'll go there tomorrow."

"_We _will," she corrected him pointedly, knowing it was not a misspoken word.

Alistair shook his head. "You've just been injured-"

"That was three days ago," she pointed out.

"And you're still recovering," he continued.

"We are not going to fight a dragon, we are only going to the alienage," she reasoned. "I can walk around the mansion and outside the garden, why not the alienage?"

"What if you're hurt again? What if a pickpocket accidentally hit you on your side?" He frowned, rather disturbed by that thought.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "If you are so concerned about my wound being reopened from some activities, perhaps you should sleep in your own room until I'm fully recovered. It's just next door..." She tossed a brief glance at the direction of his unused guestroom, driving her point home while keeping a straight face with some effort.

Alistair opened his mouth to retort but found no words. His puppy face was summoned instead.

"No, don't give me that look." She wisely turned away.

"Sammy..." Damn him, even his voice was lowered to a pleading tone. Samantha could feel her willpower begin to slip away as his eyes fixed onto her profile. She could still see his pup look in her mind's eye even without so much as to glance at him.

Samantha knew she had no choice but to fight fire with fire.

With her lips slightly pouted, she turned back to him and batted her long lashes once or twice, staring straight at him, a pleading look plastered firmly in her expressive eyes. To drive her dagger further in, she softened her voice to a breathless tone. "Alistair..."

She noticed the long breath he was taking to steel his mind. It was time to give another nudge to tip the balance of power in her favor. "Please, my love," she continued, leaning in closer, subtly yet deliberately pressing the softness of her body onto his arm. "You will be there to protect me, will you not? No one would dare to come close."

His pup face dissolved into thin air as he let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, fine. Have it your way." Glancing at her with a fake stern look, he warned, "But you have to stay by my side-"

"And not stray a step away from you," she finished his terms with a sweet smile reserved just for him.

He chuckled then breathed out yet another sigh. "You will be the death of me..."

She whispered before she planted a kiss on his lips, "As you will be mine..."


	39. You Are My Sunshine

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: I love to scatter tiny hints throughout the story, leaving clues for you to guess what's to come or even the ending. Like they say, the devil's in the details. If you love details as much as I do, happy hunting. If not, just sit back and enjoy the ride, you'll find out soon enough.

Thank you Jinx1983 and RandomWittering for beta-ing this chapter.

Also, a special thank you for those who took their time to leave me a message and adding this story to their favorite/alert list. Sometimes I do wonder if I'm crazy to type out all these words, all 165,000+ of them, but knowing you are out there spending your time reading this little story, it's definitely worth my time writing it.

Thank you for staying with me through all 39 chapters. Part IV is almost done, ch 40 Landsmeet would wrap it up. Then we'll be on the final part of the story. I'm sorry that the update is slower than before, there are several reasons, but mainly because I want to get everything just right (and I don't really want to end the story too soon. The day I post the epilogue will be a sad day in my life). So please don't give up on me if the update becomes once every two or three weeks, instead of once a week.

The date mentioned in the opening took place in ch 30. I've always wanted to write a little one-shot story of that particular afternoon, never get a chance to do it. Zevran and Leliana's first banter, as well as some of Zevran's lines in the last section, those are all from the game. Enjoy the relatively peaceful chapter, the Landsmeet is next.

* * *

Chapter Thirty Nine: You Are My Sunshine

* * *

Less than a week ago, Samantha had walked through these streets of Denerim, hand in hand with the man she loved, enjoying one peaceful afternoon in each other's company. It had been an overdue respite amidst layer upon layer of dark clouds looming over her head. One of which had been the inevitable result of the Landsmeet: she would lose Alistair forever, whether to the throne or through death.

That one layer of dark cloud had now been dissipated. The solution had been rather simple - one she had never thought of, let alone dare to entertain: marriage.

Yet fate had continued to play its tricks on her. Gone was that particular layer of dark cloud, only to be replaced by a new one. Should they spend their future together, the taint in both their blood would rob them of their chance to have a child; there would be no heir for both the Cousland and Theirin line.

Would love be enough to be their strength to fight the inevitable battle when the outside pressure demanded an heir to the throne? What of their duties as the last of their lines?

Between love and duty, they had picked the former.

Duty came first, those were some of her father's last words. But she was as much her mother's child as her father's. The blood of a long line of warrior women from her mother's side was in her veins, just as much as the dutiful Cousland side. The warrior half of her would not relent until she was truly defeated.

A line of obstacles had already formed in sight, waiting for them to overcome before they could start their new lives together. From the Landsmeet to the Blight, to the constant battles to survive in between. Perhaps not having an heir was merely one of the many battles she would have to fight in order to be with him, for his happiness as well as hers.

Last of their lines, that thought was grim.

But Lady Samantha Cousland had never been one to run from her problems. No, that was not the Cousland way. Both her honorable father and her feisty mother would have been sorely disappointed with her if she had.

Still, for now, she had to put aside her personal feelings and carry out her duty first. After all, she had her whole life ahead of her to come to terms with her fate, but the Landsmeet could not be delayed much further.

A few days after that lovely afternoon she had spent with him, once again she was walking through the same streets, with the same man by her side. Only this time, they were both armed and armored, and no longer alone. Two of their friends trailed behind, chattering casually as if they were merely taking a nice stroll to the market.

"Zevran, I saw you looking at that girl earlier." Samantha heard Leliana asking the assassin. "What did you think of her?"

"My dear Leliana, which girl? I saw many and I watched them all."

Alistair rolled his eyes at that, Samantha noticed.

"You know, the one with the... with the shoes!"

The two Wardens shared a look and a quiet snicker. The bard and her obsession with shoes.

"The shoes. Yes, good reference." Zevran's tone was so dry and flat, Samantha could almost hear his amber eyes rolling.

"Well, she also had blond curls worn in a long braid."

"A braid? Oh, that one. Yes, I remember her."

"So, what did you think? You seemed quite enthralled."

"Well, she was... quite marvelous... except for the butter face."

"The butter what?" Leliana asked the same question she had.

Alistair snorted rather loudly, seemingly having a hard time not to laugh. Samantha shot a questioning look at him, confused by both the term and his behavior.

"Butter face," Zevran repeated then explained plainly, "Everything's marvelous but her face."

Unable to control himself any longer, Alistair burst into laughter. Enlightened and very much amused, Samantha bit her lip to keep herself from laughing, then tactfully turned away to seek distraction, trying hard not to appear to be eavesdropping. But the mild shake of her shoulders was a plain indication that she had not quite succeeded.

"You're a bad man," chided Leliana.

To avoid the bard's wrath, the assassin abandoned her and quickened his pace to join the two Wardens. "Congratulations are in order, I believe?" Zevran asked casually as he walked beside his protege.

Samantha raised an eyebrow at her mentor, knowing what he was referring to, yet not wanting to make an assumption for fear it might be another of his harmless tricks. Zevran merely shot a quick glance at the tall man on her other side to indicate the subject of his topic then settled his gaze back on her.

The corners of her lips quirked up in amusement. "Oh? I have heard you did not approve of it."

The assassin gave the other man a pointed look before returning her smile with a smirk of his own. "Ah, to see my dear friend commit to one man and just one man her whole life. It makes me sad."

"One is enough for me. This one is all I ever want," she replied, knowing full well Alistair was listening intently to their conversation.

Zevran sent her a mock glance of disapproval. "Tsk tsk, if you only have one man in your life, how can you be so sure he is the one you want when you have none to compare with, my dear?"

"Hey! I'm right here, you know?" Alistair protested.

Ignoring her love for now, she leaned closer to Zevran as if to share a secret. She then claimed in a hushed tone loud enough for Alistair to hear, "Once you'd had him in your bed, even you would never trade him for anyone else, my dear Zev."

Zevran roared with laughter while Samantha stole a glance at the subject of their discussion. She found Alistair staring at her with his face tinted red, utterly surprised by her words. She sent him a subtle wink and a smile as sweet as those pies she loved, and was rewarded by a goofy grin of his, one that had the power to instantly brighten her darkest cloudy days.

It was then she realized, she would be able to see the grin she loved everyday for the rest of their lives. Her very own sunshine. Would that not be enough?

* * *

"Ahhh, an alienage. They're the same everywhere, aren't they?" Zevran commented with a hint of both amusement and bitterness after they had passed the gate and crossed the bridge.

Leliana beamed and looked around in wonder. "This is a real alienage! I've never been in one! How exciting!"

"I have never been to the alienage in Highever," said Samantha absently. "Mother would never let me."

"You listened to your mother and stayed away from the alienage, but you wouldn't listen to me when I asked you not to come?" Alistair glanced at her with loud gasp and a fake hurt expression.

"If you had met my mother, you would know why. Nobody would have dared defy the Lady Eleanor." Samantha let out a faint giggle. "Even my father was afraid of her."

"I see you take after your mother..." Alistair pretended to mumble to himself.

She narrowed her eyes threateningly at him then smacked his arm hard, all done in jest.

"Ow! I didn't say anything!" he whined, although she was quite certain he did not feel much through his armor.

She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out the tip of her tongue to make a face. It was just meant for him to see, until she heard a giggle from Leliana's direction.

"Cute..." said the bard with an impish smile.

She ignored that comment indignantly, yet heat started creeping up on her cheeks.

"She is, isn't she? You should see her..." She heard Alistair replying to Leliana, but her attention was suddenly captured by a little elven girl as the group walked passed her and her friend.

"My mother is still in Highever. I wonder when she's gonna be back," said the girl who seemed to be around seven or eight.

"She's been gone forever," said her friend, a boy of her own age.

"A year now... I miss her..." The sadness in her tone stopped Samantha in her tracks.

Highever. One year.

Alistair looked at her curiously when she stopped, but Samantha paid him no mind for now. With a kind smile, she approached the little girl and asked, "Excuse me, did you say your mother left for Highever a year ago?"

The girl looked at Samantha warily, her friend took a protective step closer to her.

Samantha took a closer look at the girl. Most elves were very pleasing to look at, but this one was exceptionally beautiful, and somehow looked very familiar. Especially those eyes...

She bent down to their height, her voice as gentle as her smile. "I came from Highever."

The girl's face lit up with hope. "Really? Maybe you've seen my mother? She worked for a noble lady and travelled with her to Highever. The lady's old, but I've never seen her..."

Highever. One year. Noble lady.

Sky blue eyes widened in shock. One name came to her mind when all the pieces suddenly connected to form a face she had forgotten. The very same face that was looking innocently at her right now.

"I...Iona?" she whispered a name, a name she had always thought was very pretty, although it paled in comparison to its owner's beautiful face.

The girl grinned widely. "You do know momma!" She jumped up and down with complete glee. "Do you know when she's gonna be back?" she asked eagerly.

The question, however, was not one Samantha was eager to answer. Her tongue was tied, and there was a sudden lump in her throat. She opened her mouth a few times, trying to come up with an answer. But there was none.

"What's wrong?" asked Alistair as he stepped up next to her, perhaps sensing her distress.

She straightened up and turned to her beloved, swallowing hard to push that lump away before she could speak. "Her mother was in the castle that night..." That was all she said, and that was all she needed to say.

She saw the shift in Alistair's eyes, from concern to horror then to sympathy. The faint gasp from Leliana's direction told her the bard understood the meaning as well. As for Zevran, his pointed silence spoke volumes. She could feel those amber eyes on her back.

Thankfully, the children were oblivious to their silent exchange. "Castle?" the girl asked innocently.

Samantha took a deep breath and pulled a smile for her. "Yes, my home."

"You lived in a castle?"

She nodded. Her smiled remained but her gaze dropped. "I used to."

"Aren't you living there anymore?" the girl asked.

It was a simple question, yet it almost knocked her off her feet.

"Sam..." Alistair called out softly. But she raised a hand to stop him.

"Not anymore," she answered with a voice as quiet as a whisper. Her smile faded, her eyes unfocused, haunted by memories of that fateful night one year ago.

"Why not?" Came another simple question, another invisible punch landed in her stomach.

Suppressing a grimace, Samantha had to pause to think of a better answer, for the truth would be to harsh for a girl her age. Or for anyone at any age. "I joined the Grey Wardens. I had to leave home..." That was not a lie.

The girl stared at her in awe. "You're a Grey Warden? Like the story?"

"With griffons!" the boy added.

"Like the story..." She nodded, then shifted her attention away from the girl and turned to Alistair. "I'd like to stay with her for a moment." She looked back to the girl and asked, "Amethyne, is that all right with you?"

The girl beamed. "You know my name too?"

"Your mother talked about you. It's a very pretty name."

Amethyne giggled. "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Samantha."

"Yours is pretty too!"

"Thank you." Even though the pain inside lingered, her smile now came easier, the pure delight on the girl's face was contagious. She then motioned at her companions one by one. "This is Alistair, he's also a Grey Warden. That pretty lady is Leliana..."

"The name is Zevran," the assassin introduced himself.

Amethyne seemingly had just taken notice of the assassin. "You are friends with elves too?"

That question caught her by surprise. Truth be told, she had never seen her friend as anything other than himself. Whether he was an elf, a human or a dwarf, Zevran was always just Zevran to her. "Why not?"

Amethyne shrugged. "I thought we're not supposed to be friends with shemlens."

That term, she had heard of it before. "Zevran is not only my good friend, but he's also my mentor... teacher."

"What does he teach?"

"He teaches me how to fight, so I can protect people as a Warden."

The two elven children looked at the assassin with sudden admiration, Zevran dipped into a graceful bow in jest.

She turned back to Alistair once more. "Go on without me. I'll stay with Amethyne until you return."

The girl nodded eagerly, all too happy to spend more time with her new Warden friend, yet Alistair did not share her enthusiasm. "Leaving you alone in the alienage? No!"

"She's not alone!" Amethyne protested. "She can come to my house. We'll keep her safe."

Sky blue eyes made a silent plea.

"But..." It was Alistair's turn to protest.

The girl took Samantha's hand and began to lead the way back to her house. The Cousland blood in her veins urged her to perform her duty as a Warden before settling this personal matter. Yet the maternal instinct in her heart drove her to stay with the girl, if only for a moment. Her fingers protectively curled around the tiny hand that was holding hers as she followed the girl without hesitation.

"Sammy," Alistair tried once more. Judging from his voice, she could tell his puppy face was up.

He quickly caught up with her with two long strides; she could feel his eyes burning on her profile. But no matter how long his puppy face would last, this time she would not back down.

When she turned and looked at him, her mask slipped momentarily; the smile in her eyes was gone, replaced by an underlying sadness. "Please... I have to do this."

Alistair was about to argue but she cut him off. "Iona was with us that night," she reminded him, her voice low but her tone firm.

"It's not your fault, love..."

It was almost more than she could take. Whether it was the look in his eyes, or the quietness in his tone, it took every bit of her to hold her poise and not to throw herself in his arms to seek the comfort she knew was there. There would be a time and place for that, she had to remind herself. Now was neither.

The slight break in her voice betrayed her. "It's the least I could do for her."

Before Alistair could counter, from a distance, a huge group gathered outside one particular house caught their attention.

"What are they doing there?" asked Leliana.

"That's the healing house!" Amethyne provided helpfully. "They heal us for free when we're sick."

"Nothing is for free, lass." Zevran snorted.

Her little friend chimed in, "It's true! They took my cousin in last week. They didn't charge him anything."

"Is he all right now?" asked the ever caring bard.

However, the boy shrugged. "Dunno. He's not back yet."

Zevran shared a glance with Samantha, she knew that look: trouble was around the corner and he could smell it. She turned to Alistair, her Warden face was back on. "This could be the unrest Anora was talking about. Go check it out, I'll stay with Amethyne."

Was it selfish of her to forsake her duties if just for a moment? Perhaps. Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew Alistair was more than capable of handling things by himself. After all, if he was to be king, he would need to walk many paths without her.

Alistair glanced from his betrothed, then to the crowd, and back to her, looking like a man who wanted to split himself in two halves just to be in two places at one time.

"I am armed, my love," she claimed. Knowing he had become overprotective ever since her unwilling side trip to Fort Drakon, she added with a promise, "And I'll stay inside until you return."

Sky blue eyes made another silent plea.

"All right," he agreed grudgingly.

Amethyne led them to her house with a spring in her steps. It was a small shack, almost the size of Samantha's old room in Highever - a room she had grown up in and not seen for a year. Occasionally, she found herself visiting it in her dreams. At times, those dreams were happy, but mostly they were heartbreaking. But either way, they would leave her empty and exhausted once she woke up. Tears would sometimes sneak up on her in those dreams, rolling their way down her cheeks to wet her pillow.

"My auntie and cousins are off to work, we can have the house all to ourselves until tonight."

"You know, Leliana should stay with you," Alistair suggested.

"No, you need her," Samantha replied, then added before he could make another suggestion. "And Zev."

The look on his face told her he was about to urge. She tossed a quick meaningful glance at Leliana, the clever bard received the message and distracted the two children with her friendly charm. Samantha then pulled her love to a corner, turning him so that his back faced the others, while his tall body shielded her from their view. It was as much privacy as she could hope for in this small house.

"Who knows what Loghain has set up here in the alienage? You need both of them," she said in a hushed tone.

"I need you!" His voice lowered after he realized it was a bit too loud. So much for privacy. "I need you to be safe, Sammy."

"And I need you," she countered, her voice laced with a hint of steel. "You need to be safe, not just for me, but for the country."

Alistair scowled in annoyance when he realized she was right.

She softened her tone. "It's far more dangerous out there than in here. Take Leli and Zev with you, please?" She reached out to touch the side of his face and held his gaze steadily, as she watched his frown melted away. When she sensed his determination had almost all but gone, she added in a whisper, "Come back to me, or I'll be very cross with you..."

A mischievous glint returned to his eyes as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'll be back before you know it. You promised to be my wife, and I'm not going to let you off the hook."

She let out a silent sigh of relief at her small victory. "Nor am I planning to let _you _off that particular hook," she assured him. "You are mine, now and always."

He seemed more amused than surprised by that sudden claim. "Am I?" he asked teasingly. Before she could land a feeble smack on his armored chest, he immediately continued, "Oh, I mean I am. Of course I am. Don't hit me!"

They shared a quiet laugh before a parting kiss.

"Be careful," she said to him before they left.

He nodded. "Lock the door."

She chuckled softly at his protectiveness but did as she was bid. Feeling restless trapped indoor, Amethyne's little friend had left with them, heading out to find some of other children to play with. When she turned back to Iona's little girl, she was greeted with a sly giggle.

"I saw him kissing you," said Amethyne.

Heat crept up on her cheeks.

Before she could answer, Amethyne fired another question, "Is he your husband?"

Samantha looked at the girl in surprise, but she answered honestly, "Not yet."

"Oh, you haven't had your wedding yet." The girl nodded understandingly, acting older than her age. "One of my cousins had her wedding last month. Her dress was so pretty. I bet you'd look pretty in your wedding dress too."

It was a notion she dared not think about. Wedding. Not with the Landsmeet and the Blight still very much hanging over her head. "I hope so," she replied absently.

"Momma told me she kept her wedding dress so I'd use it someday."

Samantha's smile froze as she felt a jab in her gut. _I am sorry. If only your mother could be at your wedding..._

Amethyne hopped onto a chair with her legs swinging above the floor. "When momma comes back, I'm gonna ask her if I could show it to you. I've seen it once. It's very pretty."

Samantha took a seat by the table next to her, a faint smile remained plastered on her face for the sake of the child.

"Did momma tell you when she's gonna be back?"

It was a question she dreaded, yet one she could not avoid. Lying had never been her strong suit; it was especially hard when an innocent face was staring at her, eagerly waiting for her answer. "I... I'm afraid she will not be back anytime soon."

The disappointment on the girl's face was almost too much for her to bear. "Why not?"

She took a quiet deep breath to quell the trembling. Her shaky hands ball up in fists on her lap, hidden under the table, away from plain sight. She dared not meet the eyes of the girl; instead, she lowered her gaze onto the old wooden surface of the table. "The lady your mother works for... that lady had to go to a place that is very, very faraway. Your mother went with her..." She trailed off, taking yet another deep breath to gather enough strength to go on. "But before she left, your mother told me to come find you, to take care of you when she's not here..." she lied gently.

Amethyne went quiet. The disappointment on her face lingered on for what seemed to be eternal to Samantha. With all the poise she could summon, Samantha sat motionlessly, waiting for the elven girl to pass her judgment. To her surprise, after a long moment of silence, Amethyne sadly accepted her mother's absence in compliance as if she had half-expected it. "Oh well... I guess momma's working hard for us. I'll be good for her too..."

The innocent words drove a dagger straight to her heart, Samantha hid a grimace. _I'm truly sorry. I wish I could bring your mother back..._ "Now that I've found you, I'll take care of you from now on. I promise," she vowed.

"Will you come visit me?"

She nodded. "I have to fight the Blight first. But once that's over, I'll come visit you as often as I can. Meanwhile, I'll send some people over to... help you and your family."

The girl was confused.

Samantha smiled softly for her. "You don't have to worry about a thing, my dear. Not anymore."

* * *

The mansion had gone to sleep, at least most of its occupants had. Sitting in the empty dining hall with a half-emptied glass of wine on the table in front of her, Samantha was grateful for the momentary solitude. Two candles were not enough to light up the room, the dying amber in the fireplace offered no additional source of light either, but she would not have it any other way. Darkness engulfed her, providing a refuge for her to temporarily cast down all her masks and facades. For a moment, she was not the brave Warden, nor the poised Lady Cousland, not even the pillar of strength Alistair relied on. Right now, she was just a broken woman riddled with guilt that should not be hers to bear. Should a tear escape, even if she failed to wipe it, no one would notice, because she was alone for once.

Or so she thought.

"Is your bed not warm enough to sleep in yet?" Zevran's voice rang through the empty room as he sauntered in. "Should I give that man of yours a lesson in proper bed-warming?"

The corners of her lips curled up faintly. "He keeps the bed warm enough; he's sleeping."

"Oh? Does he snore so loudly that you have to find peace in an empty hall?"

"No, he doesn't." She glanced up at her friend who had closed the distance, and was now leaning against the table right next to her. She noticed the daggers on his belt. "Where have you been?"

A smirk spread. "The Pearl."

She snorted despite herself. His honesty was always refreshing.

He reached out for the small braid on one side of her head and held it between his fingers. Amethyne had braided it for her earlier. "Still haven't taken it out yet? That elven lass has charmed you."

Guilt had been consuming her, even though she knew well it was not her fault that Iona was dead. Still, the innocent face of a child who was longing for her mother broke her heart in more ways than one. It reminded her of the mother she too had lost, and the daughter she would never have.

"She is kind and lovely, just like her mother." She found herself replying, shrouding her real thoughts.

Zevran studied her for a moment. "Her mother was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And you killed the bastard who was responsible for all the deaths."

She should have known Zevran could read her better than anyone else, perhaps at times even better than Alistair. "Yet the girl is still without her mother," said Samantha, not bothering to mask a hint of bitterness in her tone. "If only his death could bring back the dead, I would kill him over and over again to bring everyone back."

Zevran let the braid slide through his fingers then took her chin and tilted it up. Shadows played on his sharp features, his amber eyes glowed under the candle light. "You cannot save everyone."

"I wish I could."

"But you can save many." He paused for a long moment, dropping his hand from her face. When he spoke up once again, she was taken aback by the rare sincerity in his tone. "What we are doing here... stopping the Blight. I cannot think of anything I have ever done which is so worthy." He looked straight into her eyes, as if daring her to stare into his soul. "I intend to see this through to the end with you."

To say she was touched would be an understatement. The smile that played on her lips was as warm as the summer sun. "Thank you, Zev..."

A happy grin spread across the assassin's face. "After all... someone must take responsibility for preventing your untimely death. A suitable task for a friend, yes?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Untimely death?"

Zevran gave a casual shrug. "It's the ever so elusive yet ultimate price to pay for being in constant battles, not to mention facing the archdemon."

Samantha nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly; his brutal honesty was indeed refreshing. "Let me prevent yours as well."

"Oh, I'm not going to die. It's always the Grey Wardens that die. Did you not read stories as a child? The hero always dies."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I am not a hero."

To that, he laughed. "If you are not, I don't know who is."

She merely shook her head. "I have never wanted to be one."

"Yet, here you are. Not just a hero, you would be the queen if that lad won the Landsmeet, no?"

"After the Blight is settled..."

"Ah, the more reason I should prevent your untimely death. It would be a shame for Ferelden to lose such a beautiful queen. The royal line would be much prettier from now on thanks to your contribution."

She froze at that.

Nothing escaped the assassin's keen observation. "Something wrong?"

She shook her head, instinctively wanting to deny it, but she stopped herself halfway. "You know about the taint in my blood, as well as Alistair's..." she stated instead of asked.

Zevran nodded once but remained quiet.

Samantha hesitated for a moment before she continued, "Alistair told me that... it would be nearly impossible for two Grey Wardens to have a child because of the taint."

She could feel those amber eyes studying her, yet she kept her gaze on the pommel of his dagger, absently watched the light reflecting on the metal. A weight had been lifted by sharing this secret with her trusted mentor, yet would he now urge her not to marry Alistair? If his opposition of her engagement before had been done in jest, he now had a real reason for it.

After the longest time, Zevran then simply asked, "Nearly impossible or absolutely impossible?"

"What?" She looked up to meet those piecing eyes. She heard the question but could not bring herself to accept the lingering hope he was hinting at.

"Nearly impossible or absolutely impossible?" he repeated.

"Nearly..."

Zevran nodded, digesting the information before he asked, "Have any two Wardens tried before?" When Samantha opened her mouth but provided no answer, he continued, "I imagine your Order is mostly men, yes? Even if there are females, which I'm sure there are, would they want to have a child with their fellow Wardens? Raising a child in the midst of darkspawn fighting is even worse than having one in a whorehouse."

"I..."

The assassin wagged a finger of disapproval. "Tsk tsk, what did I tell you about hope?"

A corner of her lips twisted up helplessly as she recited, "Don't give up on it."

"I once did, but I was lucky enough to fail at my attempt in killing you."

Samantha chuckled softly at that but a sigh soon escaped. "Alistair would eventually need an heir, or appoint one before a civil war started because of the throne."

Zevran merely shrugged. "Then appoint one. Just because one had a drop of royal blood in his veins, that alone would not make him a better king. The stronger man should lead, or woman." He flashed a wild grin. "Besides, it would give you an excuse to tumble in bed as often as you please, would it not? That is the fun part, no?"

She just smiled faintly without commenting.

He raised a teasing eyebrow. "Or does he still not know how to make it fun for you, my poor dear?"

"He knows, thank you for your concern," she replied indignantly with a pink tint on her cheeks.

Zevran laughed. "Ah, here I thought I needed to give him some advice."

"Be my guest."

The mentor and his protege shared a meaningful look after the jest. She should not have lost hope, not even on her darkest days, whether such hope was for the Landsmeet, the Blight, or their future. She picked up her half-full glass of wine and offered it to Zevran.

"You never know what's going to happen, right?"

Zevran took the glass from her and nodded with a grin. "If someone had said to me just a year ago, 'Zevran, my lad, you're going to fail against your most important mark and it will be the smartest thing you've ever done,' I would have slit his throat. So, yes, I'm right with you on the 'never know what's going to happen' bit. I believe I founded the club."

* * *

When she eventually went back to bed, Alistair was still soundly asleep. As quietly as she could, she slid under the covers and settled into the soft mattress, taking extra care not to disturb his slumber. Night-time in Denerim was cool, her thin nightgown did nothing to fend of the chill, the robe she'd had on while she was outside the room had provided little warmth. But here, underneath the thick blanket, the bed remained warm and inviting, almost as if she had never left, and she knew it was all because of him.

She rested her head on the feathered pillow and pulled the blanket up to her chin. It was then he shifted and turned to face her, still dreaming away in the Fade. She turned to her side and landed a feather kiss on the tip of his nose. His lips curled up in a faint smile, she could only wonder what he saw in his dream.

She shifted close to him, the warmth of his body lulling her to sleep. Less than a week ago, she had thought she would lose him to the throne. And now, she was his betrothed. Whether she could have a child or not, having him by her side for the rest of her life, would that not be enough?

His arm reached over in his sleep and found the soft body laying beside him. He pulled her close to his chest habitually without once waking up. She snuggled closer and settled comfortably against him. The sound of his heartbeat now joined the warmth of his skin to further lure her into the dreamland. Samantha let go of her consciousness and drifted to sleep.

The last thought in her mind was the answer she had been searching for.

Yes, it would be more than enough.


	40. You Win or You Die

Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: It's been a bit more than a year since I started this little story, which is not quite little anymore. What originally began as just an idea of a letter written by Cousland to Alistair, and an unexplainable urge to write again after four years of absence, turned out to be a very long tale. I never intended to return to when I first started, or let anyone read it for that matter. But here it is. A year and forty chapters later, it's still going. Thank you for sticking with me and reading every chapter, even though there are many new fandoms popping up since this started. I hope this story has brought a smile on your face one time or another.

Ch 40 and 41 was supposed to be one big Landsmeet chapter, but I chopped it into two. 41 will come out soon. Sorry, I took so long to write this chapter, I wanted it to be perfect, even though I know perfection can never truly be reached.

The title came from A Game of Thrones. I picked this line from the book for this particular chapter before the episode of the TV show came out. When I saw the episode title I was so happy - we think alike!

A big thanks to Jinx1983 for beta-ing. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

"_When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." - Cersei Lannister._

* * *

Chapter Forty: You Win or You Die

* * *

Insomnia was not his favorite word, and luckily Alistair was never too familiar with it either. To be sure, he had his share of sleepless nights, but those were mostly during the time when he was trapped inside the Chantry, and a handful soon after Ostagar. Lately he had none, not even when they were on the road, sleeping on cold hard ground of their camp at night. Perhaps lying next to a soft warm body that smelled like a rose helped him sleep even better than before. He would sooner beg for a few more hours of sleep.

Until now.

The bed was soft, the thick blanket warm, and the woman in bed both soft, warm and blissfully asleep. Yet he found himself standing by the window staring at the darkness outside. Dawn was breaking, the sky above had added a hint of blue to the pitch black backdrop. The room was rather chilly; the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. However, he did not bother to rekindle the flame, or even to look for his shirt. But he did put on those pants that had been hastily discarded on the floor by the bed the night before, just in case someone rushed in with an urgent message of some sort.

Was he too cautious? Well, the old Alistair might think so. But he was no longer the same man he used to be just a year ago. Ever since Eamon had announced him as Maric's heir, everyone seemed to want a piece of him. It would not be the first time his sleep was interrupted by some important matters. And his lovely betrothed, the ever so wise woman who was asleep like a child right now, had told him to start acting kingly. How kingly would he seem if someone barged in and saw him naked by the window?

Kingly: that was another word he was not too familiar with, and a word he would never have thought would be used to describe himself.

Yet here he was, a few hours from the Landsmeet. The fate of the country would soon be determined by a bunch of nobles; lords and ladies from all four corners of Ferelden had come together to choose the next person to sit on the throne. A few people behind close doors would determine the fate of many, somehow that thought sent chills down his spine. But he was not about to change the system, nor could he change anything, not now when he was still just a Warden. To win, he had to play the game; to play the game, he had to follow the rules. While he might not be the smartest man in the entire Thedas, he did understand that part.

For the sake of the woman he loved, and the sake of everyone in Ferelden, he had to win today. If Loghain won, he would certainly use the chance to get rid of the remaining Wardens, as he had been hunting them down like dogs for the past several months. Without them, Loghain would certainly not be able to contain the Blight. Thousands upon thousands would perish. And on a more personal note, while Alistair would most certainly like to keep his own head, it was Samantha's safety he was more concerned about. Some stories would want him to believe that dying together was the most romantic thing, but Alistair found living together until their hair turned grey would be far more romantic than dying young.

Too bad they would never turn grey together. Their callings would get to them first, Alistair frowned at that thought.

A faintest sound between a purr and a moan was heard behind him. Alistair turned and watched as Samantha stirred in her sleep. She shifted under the thick blanket then snuggled up instinctively to the empty side of the bed. It took her a few seconds to realize he was missing. Within that few precious seconds, he observed her as a goofy smile played on his lips. He had never been a greedy man; to be able to watch her like this every morning, thirty years with his Sammy would be more than he ever deserved. But to get those thirty years, he would have to ensure they would survive not just the Landsmeet but also the Blight. Well, one step at a time, the Landsmeet first.

The sun had yet to rise, the glowing embers in the fireplace provided the only source of light in the room, but his eyes had long adjusted to the darkness. He could see the confusion on her face as her hands patted around the space he usually occupied. Her eyes shot opened in alarm, they were the same shade as the sky on the brightest sunny day, he knew their color by heart.

"I'm here," he assured her quietly.

Samantha lifted her head off the pillow and turned to the direction of his voice. "...What..." She struggled to find words for a bit, her voice was coarse and laced with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I thought I'd let you have the bed all to yourself for a change. Go back to sleep, love," he drawled lazily, trying to lull her back to sleep. Having one of them sleepless was enough, no need to have both suffer at the same time.

He should have known it would not work. She propped herself up on her elbow and studied him in the dark for a moment. "You are worried about the Landsmeet."

He had to laugh despite the weight he felt on his shoulders. "How did you do that? Seeing right through me even when I'm in the dark. It's creepy, you know?" he jested.

She shifted to sit on the bed, pulling the blanket up with her for warmth. "Creepier than Morrigan turning into a giant spider?"

"Well, hers is nasty creepy, yours is sexy creepy."

He heard her snort, that brought a grin to his face. She patted the mattress, and he found himself willingly being summoned to her side. The bed was warm, and the soft body next to his even warmer. For a brief moment, he regretted leaving the comfort of the bed earlier.

Her hand found his and took it. "You will do fine. We have supports from most nobles already, and evidence against Loghain."

"What if I lose?" he had to ask, voicing his fear, seeking strength.

There was a long pause. The room was dim but he could see those big blue eyes studying him. "Then we fight our way out of Denerim if we must, head west to join the Wardens of Orlais." While her voice was as sweet as ever, steel was laced in her tone.

"More fighting, huh? I guess it's too much to ask Loghain to let us finish our job when he has been chasing us down like dogs for the past year."

To that, she did not answer. But her fingers softly stroking his cheek was all the comfort and understanding he needed.

"What about Highever? If I lose and we run, you won't be able to claim it back..."

He felt her hand briefly froze on his face. "I have you."

"Sammy-"

"As long as we are both alive, we can always claim back what is ours one day. Highever will still be standing long after we die, so will Denerim. But our time together..." she trailed off before she continued, "I have you, that's all that truly matters to me."

He planted a kiss on her forehead, one he wanted to plant on her lips instead. "If I win, Highever is yours. And anything else you want."

She shook her head. "I just want my home back. And you."

He chuckled. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"I have all I need..." Her hand slid from his cheek down to his heart. "Here."

That warmed his heart more than anything else. He planted yet another kiss on her, this time on her cheek.

She continued, "King or no king, I will still be with you. Even if we could never claim back Highever or Denerim, after the Blight, we could settle in Orlais, just like in your dream..."

"And eat cheese and pies for the rest of our lives," he finished it for her.

She nodded. "For the rest of our lives."

He planted a third kiss on her, this time on her lips.

The weight of the country was still on his shoulders, yet somehow it seemed much lighter. He knew it was because of her. Even if his path led directly to the front door of Death, she would still be with him every step of the way. And it was with this unconditional support, he knew he could face anything life threw at him - the Landsmeet, the Blight, and perhaps even the future as king.

Fate had thrown him into constant chaos, but through her, he had found lasting peace.

* * *

Peace would be the ideal outcome of the Landsmeet. Peace and victory. But Samantha was not naive enough to expect both. Throughout the past year, the idealism and romanticism she once held had been crushed by tragedies and washed away by endless battles and deaths. Today, they were here to seek victory, and only through victory, could they eventually bring peace.

Still, it was easier said than done. Her heart was pounding hard inside her chest, her head felt light. Samantha paused for a brief moment in front of the heavy double doors of the palace audience chambers. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, then stole a glance at the man next to her. Alistair had been very quiet since they had left Eamon's mansion, his expression set in stone. The burden he had to bear was crushing him, she noticed, the pressure written all across his face was painful for her to witness. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. That captured his attention.

Sky blue eyes locked onto warm hazel ones. Words were not needed. For what seemed to be forever, they held onto each other's gaze. The palace around them had melted away; there was no one, there was nothing, just the two of them. Her lips curled up into a smile for him, one he returned in kind. His fingers closed in around hers protectively, holding onto her hand in a firm yet comforting grip.

This was it, they both knew. One way or another, they would get through this obstacle, no matter how daunting it might be. Samantha put her free hand on one of the polished metal handles of the heavy doors, while Alistair reached for the other one. Together, they gave a push and the doors swung open for them.

The creaking sound of the opened doors drew the attention of the crowd away from the booming voice of Loghain. All eyes turned and greeted the young pair and their companions. The gathering nobles parted as they stepped through. Hand in hand, the son of Maric Theirin and the daughter of Bryce Cousland headed towards the dais, treading on the carpet their fathers had walked on many times before.

She felt his hand tighten around hers as her eyes narrowed slightly at the figure waiting for them at the end hall. Clad in his heavy armor, the aging general still projected an impressive image of a hero, one who had freed Ferelden from Orlesian occupation long before Samantha was born. But Samantha Cousland was not about to be intimidated by Loghain. While he was a teyrn, so was her late father. By right, Highever should be hers to rule as a teyrna. In the eyes of laws, her rank was no lower than his.

With her shoulders squared, head held high, she gave Alistair's hand a final squeeze before releasing it, then took the center stage of the Landsmeet, looking straight into those dark eyes that had spotted their presence.

"Ah! And here we have the puppet and puppeteer," Loghain announced rather dramatically.

"If by helping to restore the Theirin line to the throne would make me a puppeteer, then I am no more a puppeteer than you were with King Maric, Teyrn Loghain," Samantha countered. She heard mumbles and a few gasps, and continued proudly, "And I have a name. Lords and ladies of Ferelden, I am Samantha Cousland of Highever. Daughter of the late Teyrn Bryce Cousland, sole survivor of the massacre of Castle Cousland."

She had met most of the nobles here in the past week, to be sure. Yet, courtesy was a lady's armor; redundant introduction was better than the arrogance of assuming she was known. Besides, while her name might not mean much to the nobles right now, her father's still carried weight in their mind.

Loghain was not impressed, nor was she expected him to be. The teyrn merely snorted and regarded the young woman with a hint of a smirk. "Tell us: How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?"

A fine brow raised. Was it a diversion, or did he truly believe in his words, however ridiculous they sounded? It mattered not. Maintaining her composure despite the accusation, Samantha calmly replied, "Orlesians? The Blight is the immediate threat to Ferelden, not Orlais."

"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," said Bann Alfstanna.

"The south is fallen, Loghain! Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?" asked Arl Wulff.

"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?" challenged the teryn.

"The Wardens had fought the previous four Blights, that much was certain. Why would it be any different now?" asked Samantha.

"The Grey Wardens claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legion of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to return from whence they came?"

Samantha had found a seam in Loghain's seemingly impenetrable armor. As her dear mentor Zevran had told her, nothing is impenetrable, everyone has a weakness, it's only a matter of finding it. "Do you truly let your fear for the Orlesians cripple you?"

"I do NOT fear the Orlesians!" Loghain barked. "You were not even born when our country was under its occupation. You know nothing, child!"

It was the reaction she had hoped to get. "Do you not fear them? Then why would you not let those two hundred Orlesian Grey Wardens help with the Blight? If it's the Chevaliers that bothered you so, then why not just let the Wardens cross the border, keep the Chevaliers where they belong? Instead of accepting help from two hundred Wardens, you sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your war. Do you expect us to believe a man who sold elves as slaves?"

"What? Sold elves? Explain this!" demanded Sighard.

"There is no saving the alienage," Loghain admitted willingly, much to her surprise. "Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would sent my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here."

"_I_ have been there," said Samantha. "People struggled to get by in the alienage, but that does not mean they have no will to survive! You sold our citizens as nothing more than farm animals to Tevinter, whatever excuse you come up with to make you sleep better at night, slavery is still slavery. Who are you to play Maker in their lives and determine their fate?"

"Excuse? This is war! War needs funding. Did you believe it would be like the old tales: knights with pennants flying over battlefields where all outcomes are decided simply and with honor?" Loghain snorted. "War is cruel. Every soul who fought alongside Maric knows this. And in it, there are no such thing as innocents, only the living and the dead, and the degrees of guilt both bear. Sacrifices were made. If they were too great, the Maker will judge me for it."

"Will the Maker judge you for allowing Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents?" Howe's name tasted like poison on her tongue, yet the nobles had to know.

"Lady Samantha speaks truly! My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him... some of them were beyond any healer's skill." Sighard shook his head sadly.

"Howe was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all." Loghain paused to shoot a meaningful glance at Samantha. "But you know that. You were the one who murdered him."

"Was I supposed to stand there and be murdered by his axe while his mages cast spells on me?" Her voice cracked like a whip.

"Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home."

"Tell that to my late Father!" Words came out too quickly. Her heart was pounding with rage. There were mumbles, but Samantha took a discreet deep breath to collect herself then continued, "If there is not justice in killing a man in his home, then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?"

"I assure you, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

"Indeed?" asked Alfstanna. "My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"

Loghain did not respond to that.

"Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain," warned the Grand Cleric. "Interference in a templar's sacred duties in an offense against the Maker."

"Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter."

Sky blue eyes narrowed. Samantha did not like the direction this was heading. "I believe we are discussing _your _crime here."

Yet, Loghain paid her no heed. "You took my daughter - our queen - by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?" asked the teyrn angrily.

For a fraction of a moment, Samantha was confused. Did Loghain truly not know Anora's whereabouts?

A sharp yet feminine voice called out, "I believe I can speak for myself." Anora stepped out from a nearby doorway. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. Samantha Cousland has slandered and defamed Ferelden's greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on Maric's throne."

"What?" Samantha stared in disbelief at Anora. The queen's sudden betrayal should not have taken her by surprise, after all, Anora had done the same when she had thrown Samantha to Loghain's men at the arl's mansion. Yet being falsely accused did not sting less the second time around.

"It has become clear to me, Lady Samantha, that the true threat to this nation is you." Anora approached as regal as a queen should, even when she was lying through her teeth. Samantha would have applauded for her acting skill if the situation was less dire. "I offered you the chance to ally with me for the good of this nation, and you refuse it. I will not allow you to destroy the throne Cailan and I have held."

Loghain did not even bother to suppress a victorious smirk. "Who here can say that Anora is not fit to rule this land? And who can say that this Alistair is? We know nothing of him save that he may have royal blood. For five years, Anora has been queen, and proven herself worthy of the Theirin name. She can lead our people through this crisis, and I can lead her armies."

Blood ran cold in Samantha's veins, yet she managed to maintain her poise, her calm facade firmly intact despite the tremendous pressure that was crushing her. This was her last chance to strike, she realized, she could not afford to falter now. She cast a glance at the rightful king she was fighting for, her love. Sky blue eyes locked onto warm hazel ones for the first time since the debate had started. He offered her a faint smile and a slight nod, it was all the strength she needed to make this final strike fatal. She had to win the hearts of the nobles, not just for Alistair, but for their future.

Samantha took a deep breath and began, "My lords and ladies, I may be young but I know one thing. History has shown us that we Fereldans have been threatened before, and we have proven that we can conquer the odds if we are united. My late Father fought alongside King Maric to defend Ferelden, just as I am now fighting alongside Maric's sole heir for our country. Who are we to say Alistair Theirin could not be just as good of a ruler as Anora, if not better? Like his father once was, Alistair is also an exiled prince. In the past year, he has gathered the support from not just the Circle of Magi, but the elusive Dalish clan, and the dwarven kingdom of Orzammar. That alone should be enough proof to show that he _can _unite Ferelden to fight our threat, just like his father did." She paused briefly to take note of the glances exchanged between the gathered nobles. A dagger had been stabbed through the seam of Loghain's impenetrable armor, now It was time to twist the blade.

"While it is true that Anora had been ruling for the past five years, what has she done to the crisis we are facing? Why are our people still suffering if she is as competent of a ruler as her father claimed? Anora may have five years of experience on the throne, but did she unite the country? No. It is Alistair who united the country, mages, dalish elves, and dwarves alike. It is Alistair's lead that the army he has gathered will follow. And it is Alistair Theirin who will lead us to defeat the Blight, because not only is he the son of King Maric, he is also a Grey Warden. The Wardens have defeated the Blight four times in the past, and we _will_ defeat it once more. As a Cousland, it is my duty to defend my country and serve my liege. And it is my honor to fight for my king, Alistair, the son of Maric." She bowed her head and went down on one knee in front of her stunned love.

"South Reach stands with King Alistair," announced Arl Bryland.

_One_, Samantha counted silently. She straightened up and raised her head to look at Alistair.

"Waking Sea stands with King Alistair," Alfstanna followed.

_Two_. Her breath was held. Their eyes met. Both stood perfectly still.

"Dragon's Peak supports King Alistair," said Sighard.

_Three_. She allowed the faintest ghost of smile on her lips.

"The Western Hills is with you, King Alistair. Maker help us," prayed Wulff.

_Four_. His eyes widened slowly in disbelief each time his name was called. Her smile began to broaden.

"I stand by Loghain!" said Ceorlic. "We've no hope of victory otherwise."

She discreetly made note of that.

"I stand with King Alistair! The Blight is coming; we need the Grey Wardens!"

_And Five_.

They won.

Samantha did not release the breath she had been holding until she heard Eamon said triumphantly, "I knew the people of Ferelden would do the right thing!"

The enormous weight that had been crushing her was lifted so suddenly that she could collapse in both sheer ecstasy and exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around Alistair, but she refrained. He was now the king, and... Samantha was caught by surprise when Alistair closed the distance with two long strides and pulled her in his arms, lifting her up and spinning her around. She lost her poise and squealed in delight, for once reminding everyone how young she truly was. The gathering nobles faded away, for a moment, it was just the two of them, basking in pure bliss.

Until Loghain's booming voice was heard. "Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?" Loghain turned and faced Eamon. "You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk." He pointed an accusing finger at the crowd. "None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!"

The doors suddenly burst open. A group of well-armed soldiers charged in. Samantha gasped with the rest of the nobles at the unexpected invasion. Alistair's arm, still remained around her, tightened protectively.

If it was a fight Loghain was seeking, Samantha would gladly oblige. But with a glance at the gathering crowd, all of them in their silk and velvet, only few of them were armed, she realized a battle might not bode well.

"Loghain!" Eamon called out. "Call off your men and we'll settle this honorably."

For a short moment, Samantha could not be certain if the teyrn would listen. She took a small step away from Alistair, readied to unsheathe her blades if need be.

It was then Loghain waved his hand to hold back his soldiers. Dark eyes turned to the two Wardens. "Then let us end this."

Samantha shared a look with Alistair, neither was certain what to expect, yet both with determination written across their faces. Silent understanding had been reached long before the Landsmeet had started: come what may, together they would face it.

The aging general approached the two young Wardens. "A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me," he said to Samantha, quite pointedly ignoring the son of his good friend, almost as though Alistair's existence had somehow tarnished Maric's memories in his mind. "Enough. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

A duel? The two Wardens exchanged another look. This time, it was a surprised one - a pleasantly surprised one.

"It shall be fought according to traditions: a test of arms in single combat until one party yields," Alfstanna announced. "And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

"Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?" Loghain asked Samantha, strangely not unkind.

"I will face you," Alistair declared as he stepped between Samantha and Loghain.

Her hand reached for his arm before she could stop herself. Alistair turned and looked at her, his face oddly calm, yet there was something in his eyes that betrayed him; there was more than a spark of fire underneath that steel determination. Even if no one else noticed it, she did. "This is our fight," Alistair said quietly. "You have done your part, let me do mine."

At that moment, she understood. She had had her fight with her demon, her chance to seek long overdue revenge and close a chapter in her life. Now it was his chance to do so. She let her hand slide down the length of his arm and took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze before letting it go. "Be careful," she whispered.

To that, he merely flashed a faint smile.

She could only watched when Loghain said, "Then let us test the mettle of our would-be king. Prepare yourself."

* * *

"Then let's test the mettle of our would-be king. Prepare yourself." He heard Loghain said. Being king was the last thing on his mind right now. As he unsheathed his sword and readied his shield, Alistair could only think about one person: Duncan.

The man in front of him was not one who stood in the way of his rightful throne, but one who had murdered Duncan and the rest of the Order in Ferelden. They were not just the leader and his fellow Wardens, they were his only family. For six months of his otherwise miserable twenty one years of existence, he was truly happy; he had finally found a place to call home. Six short months, and Loghain took it all away from him with one single order: retreat.

His attention never left the opponent he was now circling. All Alistair could see was Duncan's blood on Loghain's hand, as well as the blood of the rest of his brothers.

And Cailan's.

If only that traitor did not betrayed them, Cailan would still be king, Duncan would still be alive.

It was Duncan who had saved him from his misery, it was Duncan who had given him a new purpose in life, and it was Duncan who had brought her into his life. That fateful day in Ostagar a year ago, he had lost the man who had been his hero, and met the woman who would be his love.

He spared a glance at the golden haired woman standing on the side. Sky blue eyes immediately locked onto his. Samantha's face was calm, he noticed, but the slightest knot between her brows betrayed her. She gave him a faint nod, it was all the encouragement he needed. He had to win, not just for Samantha, but for their future.

And for Duncan.

Yes, for Duncan. That was all he had in his mind when he charged and brought his sword down on Loghain. The general might not be young anymore, but he was still fast. His own blade was up to meet Alistair's, shoving the young man back then began his own assault. Alistair blocked with his sword, parrying it out of his way, and smashed his shield onto Loghain's torso. Loghain immediately jumped back to avoid the hit, but this time he was not fast enough for his younger opponent. Metal shield smacked hard onto Loghain's armor. The general grunted as he staggered back, but quickly regained his balance and raised his sword to catch Alistair's blade on a downswing.

Steel met steel with a crash, again and again.

One man attacked, the other parried. One man swung, the other blocked. The dance of swords and shields went on, the clashing sound of metal provided the music for their dance.

The duel went on perhaps for minutes, or for hours, Alistair did not care to keep track. His eyes never left his opponent, anticipating Loghain's moves, parrying each lunge, deflecting each strike. The general might be a seasoned warrior who had started his first battle before Alistair was even born, but the prince had youth and stamina on his side. Eventually Loghain began to slow down, and Alistair could smell blood.

Holding his shield high to block a downward cut, Alistair immediately swung his sword towards the unprotected side of Loghain's torso. The blade clashed hard against the metal armor, not enough to cut through it and draw blood, but enough to stagger the general. Loghain stumbled back, but before he could recover, Alistair smashed him with his shield and knocked Loghain on the floor. Loghain brought his own blade up defensively, but he was a second too slow.

With the sharp edge of his sword pressed against the general's neck, Alistair towered above Loghain's sitting form. Despite the burning anger in his veins, his eyes turned unusually cold as he regarded his defeated opponent. There was only one man on his mind when the duel started, and there was still just one man on his mind now that it came to an end.

The general looked at the prince with a wry smile as he dropped his own blade in defeat and shifted to his knees, preparing to get back on his feet. "So, there is some Maric in you after all. Good."

Something inside him snapped. Did Loghain forget about Duncan? Was it just Maric, the man who had never been in Alistair's life, that Loghain thought this was all about? "Forget Maric," he heard himself declaring in a voice so icy that could not have been his own. "This is for Duncan."

It was almost as if his arm moved on its own accord, his blade was raised then brought down in a fury, effectively beheading the traitor who killed Duncan. Alistair watched as the headless body crumbled down onto the floor, the head of Loghain rolled to his feet.

There were sounds of gasps and screams around him, but he care not about any of them. His eyes glued to the face of his enemy, the face of the monster who had murdered the only family he had belonged to, and the only brother he had. Loghain was dead, by his own hands, but the victory felt so empty. It was then he finally realized what he had secretly hoped for: Duncan's return. It was a stupid wishful thinking, yet being an idiot that he was, there was this smallest spark of hope that the death of Loghain would bring his mentor back. Now that with Loghain's head by his feet, he could no longer hang onto that idiotic dream. His hope was snuffed out along with the life the traitor in one single blow.

Duncan would never come back.

His vision was blurred, his body numbed. His sword and shield became unbearably heavy, limped fingers gave in and dropped them onto the floor. The crowd gathered around his dead opponent, but he paid them no heed.

He had won.

For Samantha. For their future.

And for Duncan...


End file.
